


Can you let me go to hell the way I want to?

by MrsRidcully



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, BDSM, Blow Jobs, Chris Argent in Panties, Cock Cages, Contracts, Corporal Punishment, Crime Writer Peter Hale, Hand Feeding, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Kink Negotiation, Kneeling, M/M, Master Peter, Master/slave negotiations, Nipple Torture, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Revenge, Slave Chris, Spanking, Sub Chris, Under-negotiated Kink, Washing and Shaving, Whipping, lots of tags going to happen through this fic, masochist Chris, morally dubious peter, sadist Peter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 18:02:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28853238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsRidcully/pseuds/MrsRidcully
Summary: Peter has a plan - tempt Chris Argent to be under his control, break him, and remold him as his obedient pet. What follows is a journey of unexpected discovery for them both
Relationships: Chris Argent/Peter Hale
Comments: 58
Kudos: 102





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> OK this is a little different from my normal fluff and nonsense I have always wanted to explore writing Moraly grey Peter, and this idea has given me the chance. 
> 
> Thank you to my wonderful Bunny for letting me wax about this story and for making sure my my commas and full stops were wrangled LLU Hun

Pinching the skin on the bridge of his nose in frustration, Chris let out a seething breath—fucking Peter Hale in all his smug, handsome glory was sitting on a bar stool not ten feet from where Chris had walked in. Why the fuck would he be here? It's not like this place sold the top shelf booze that Peter preferred—though the place wasn’t terrible, it was gutter level in comparison to where Hale would normally drink.

Letting out another sigh, Chris moved in the opposite direction to Peter, sliding onto the worn leather seat of the bar stool. Chris just wanted a drink to dull the ache in his bones and the clamour of the voices in his head. The job at the stockyard paid the bills, kept a roof over his head, and food and booze on the table, and he liked working with the livestock— they didn’t expect anything from him and didn’t judge him for the name he carried. Another plus was that in his down time he could drink himself under the table and no one would care as long as he turned up for his shift at the start of the week, and if he didnt someone else would step in and do the job. 

It's not like he was giving up—giving up would imply there had been a chance of success, a different path—but that was not on the cards. His family's actions had stolen the future from Chris, and he no longer cared what the next day brought. 

Now all he wanted was that first drink, closely followed by a second, and so forth, until he crawled home. Chris raised his hand to Ted the barman who nodded his shaggy head in return. Ted knew who Chris was, his history, and the bear shifter didn't give a shit. Chris spent money in his bar, kept to himself and most importantly, did not cause problems. A plus in Ted’s eyes.

“Thought you would have been in earlier.” Ted placed a foaming mug of bitter ale in front of Chris, absently wiping the bar as he leant down, 

Grunting, Chris took a long drink of his ale before answering. “Couple of guys didn’t show. Mitchell asked me to stay back.” 

Ted arched a bushy red brow and frowned. ”You know he's taking advantage, right?” Chris shrugged, not really caring. The money was enough to get by, and it wasn’t like he had a family to support, not anymore.

Ted shook his head, his amber eyes understanding. “We all carry our guilt in different ways, but you're carrying more than your fair portion. You drink enough to put a shifter to shame, and I don't think you’re going to find forgiveness or whatever you need at the bottom of a glass.” 

“Can you let me go to hell the way I want, Ted? Are you a barman or a therapist?” Chris growled into his drink.

“Some days I’m both, but most days I think I'm your only god damn friend in this hell forsaken city.” Ted leaned back, crossing his arms across his ample chest.

Chris smiled, a mere twitch of the lips, and held his glass up in a salute. “Then I pity you for your shit choice in friends, but thank you anyway. Now are you going to let me drink, or are you gonna mother me some more?”

“You're a jerk, Argent but a good guy.” Ted leaned down again, propping his elbows on the bar and jerking his chin in the direction of Peter. He frowned.“That one’s been asking questions about you.”

Chris gave a tired shrug. It was a free world. Hale could ask questions—it wasn't like Chris had any nefarious secrets to hide. He'd been cleared of any guilt, both in the fire and his sister's heinous actions, by the courts, though he still carried his own guilt about both those things. But that was his own moral battleground. “He can ask, I don’t have anything to hide. I'll give him my key and he can make sure I'm not hoarding illegal wolfsbane bullets if he wants.” Chris reached into his pocket and threw his ratty key chain on the bar with a loud jangle.

Ted let out a loud breath. “You're in fine form tonight.” Ted picked up the keys and smirked, fangs slipping out slightly “I'll still take those. You can catch a cab or walk home if you're planning on drinking as much as normal.”

Chris fought the urge to roll his eyes “I just want to drink, is that too much to ask?”

Chris watched as Ted disappeared back up the bar, the mother bear off to check on his unruly clients. Chris snorted and took a long draft of his beer, the bitter hops and malt as welcoming as a lover's kiss. He let out a gravelly groan as he savoured the taste. 

Chris registered the sound of a clearing throat behind him, barely acknowledging it with an annoyed grunt. “Trying to drink here. There are free seats further up the bar.”

“No, this one is fine,” a voice purred close to his ear. Chris turned to stare into a pair of glacial blue eyes—eyes that belonged to Peter Hale.

Chris eyed the werewolf. He wore an expensive suit that looked like it had been tailored for him, the cut doing everything to highlight Peter's assets and more. The suit screamed money and power, and probably cost more than Chris’s beat up old jeep. The smile Peter wore was predatory to say the least. What the fuck would a Hale want to talk to him for? Chris let out a sigh—there was only one possible reason.

“Look, Ted’s a friend, probably my only one. I don’t want trouble for him or his bar. Do we need to step outside so you can take your pound of flesh, or did you just come here to slum it with the common folk?” Chris didn’t mean to sound so bitter and dejected—  _ actually _ no, he did. It wasn't Hale’s fault Chris’s family had broken the code, acted out and gone against the treaty, but it was not Chris’s fault either. For six years he’d been serving penance for his family's sins. When was it time to say enough?  _ Maybe never _ the cynical voice in his head sighed.

After so many years, most humans did not care much if their neighbours were supernatural or not. They suffered the same daily struggles humans did—find a job, look after your family, maybe find love if you were lucky. His mom had been one of those using her powers as Argent Matriarch to help and support local packs whilst also keeping dangerous supes under control. She had been friends with Peter's mother up until the day she had died, and she had instilled a sense of what was right and an open mind in Chris that withstood all that Gerard threw at him.

Peter made a low disapproving sound in his throat. ”Oh, I don’t want to hurt you, Argent.” Hale's voice dipped lower, a husky whisper.“Well, not in the conventional way.” Peter sat in the stool alongside, not giving a shit about the  _ fuck off _ vibes Chris was throwing at him.

  
  


“Look Mr Hale, just say what you have to say, then leave me to my drinking in peace.” Chris answered softly.

“Mr Hale? How formal. I do like a certain level of formality but normally Sir will do. But no, I shan't leave you alone, as I have an offer to present to you—a proposition. A job, if you like. At the end of it, you will have all the money you could dream of. It would certainly help your chances of seeing your little girl again, yes?” Peter cocked his head slightly, waiting for Chris to answer. 

“That ship has sailed Hale, leave my little girl out of this. She’s better where she is.”

“Oh I highly doubt that. Your father and sisters' influence can still reach her, even though they languish behind bars, and your ex—” Peters nose wrinkled in distaste—“she is as rabid as the rest of them, she just has a thicker veneer of civility to cover the rot.” 

“I lost joint custody. It was my own fault. Look, drop this. It's just going to end up pissing me off and one of us, probably me, is going to end up bleeding on the floor.” Chris took a deep draft of his beer, refusing to look at Peter.

Peter moved his stool closer—would the wolfy bastard not take the hint and go away? “Ah, yes. The infamous drunken court scene. Not the best way to impress a judge in a custody hearing.” Peter's smirk was infuriating, and it took all of Chris’s self control not to punch the bastard square in his pretty nose.

Chris’s hand tightened around the glass “I wasn't drunk. I hadn't touched a drop in weeks. I told the court that.”

“The slurring of words and the stumbling said differently.” Why did the damn wolf have to poke at those wounds? Did he  _ want _ a brawl? Was he itching to get his claws wet with Chris’s blood?

The glass shattered in Chris's hand. ” _ I was not drunk! _ Now if your sole purpose was to come here and rile me up, consider the task done.” 

Peter stood up, still smiling. “Oh, on the contrary Christopher. It was never my intention to rile you up, that was just a fun little sidestep. For the record, I believe you—and I may be able to offer you the proof you need to overturn the court's decision.” He slid a black card into Chris’s front shirt pocket “I want you at this address by six pm tomorrow. We can discuss my offer further, in more pleasant surroundings. And Christopher? Don't be late. I’m not pleasant to be around when I’m kept waiting.” With that, Peter walked off and Chris was left staring at the broken glass in his hand.

“You’re going to go, aren't you?” Ted spoke quietly—for such a huge man, Chris was astounded at the way he could move so damn quietly.

“If I was smart I’d tell him to fuck off and then make sure I was out of Beacon City fast, but if he is telling the truth...” Chris hissed, looking at his hand he saw blood from where the shattered beer mug had cut into his palm. 

“For what it's worth, it smelt like he was telling the truth,” Ted shifted uncomfortably where he stood.

“What else, Ted?” 

“I think he was getting off on making you angry.” Ted wrinkled his nose. “Fucking wolves are power freaks. They love making others submit, and get off on a challenge.”

Chris shook his head. “Fucking pass me a rag so I dont bleed over your precious bar, and we’re not going to mention what you smelled again.” 

Ted gave a grin, his amber eyes crinkling “My nose never lies. He was into you.”

“Shut the fuck up, Ted,” Chris growled half-heartedly. Ted's nose was on drugs if it thought Peter Hale was attracted to Chris. It was probably mistaking hatred for lust—that made more sense.

  
  


0o0

Peter drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. Oh, that was almost too easy. Dangling just a whiff of information should be enough to at least pique the ex-hunter’s interest.

His plan would work, of that he had no doubt. Lure the man in, get him to agree to the contract, then spend the next twelve months breaking him down till there was nothing left but what Peter wanted. Oh, how sweet it would be to parade around with an Argent trailing at his heels like the trained pet he would be. Gerard’s only boy, fallen so low. And then? The best bit— imagining Gerard’s face when he realized Peter had turned Chris. His spies had gathered enough information that Peter knew how to get to Chris, and then how to keep him.

Isaac, Victoria's live-in nanny, had been more than forthcoming with information in regards to the now exes married life, with Victoria bemoaning that Chris was too submissive, too weak, too eager to please. While the former Mrs Argent might look down on those qualities, Peter most certainly did not.

Peter growled low in his throat as he pictured the former hunter on his knees, cheeks wet with tears as he choked on Peter's cock, desperate for air but begging for more. Oh yes, Peter was going to have a lot of fun hurting this man.

His phone chimed with a message from Deuc. “How did it go?”

Peter quickly typed back, “He is sniffing the bait.”

A bubble appeared, Deuc typing rapidly. “Just be careful, he’s not one of your pet masochists you can slap around.”

Peter quirked a brow—his instincts told him otherwise. “I would not be so certain.”

Another message. “Peter, this could end badly.”

“For me or for Argent? Guess I am willing to risk it” Peter typed back.

“He’s not a bad man, Peter. I didn’t train you just for you to abuse your power,” Deuc replied 

Peter typed out a fast response. “He’s an Argent, of course he is. And I won’t hurt him anymore than he needs or can take!” He threw his phone onto the passenger seat, tired of Daddy Deucalion trying to play devil's advocate.

No, he had set the plan in motion. Now he just had to wait. And he was a patient man. He would see this through.

0o0

Chris paid the cab driver then made his way upstairs to the ratty apartment he now called home. It was a simple place above the free health clinic Satomi Ito ran for the poorer shifters and humans in the city. He got the place cheap, and helped out Satomi by being a sort of live-in security guard. 

He threw his wallet and house keys onto the worn table top and sunk down onto one of the less than stable wooden chairs. Sliding his wallet open, he pulled out the card Hale had given him. Did he want to take the chance? Again he reached into his wallet and drew out a carefully folded photo. Opening it, he smoothed over the faded image, Allison holding Mr Bunnykins, smiling so widely you could see her missing front tooth. That photo was the only thing that Victoria had let him keep. Three years since he had held his little girl, heard that giggle. Damn it, if Hale could help him reconnect, or at least offer a chance for Chris to be a father to her, then he would risk just about anything.

The black business card sat on the table, looking like both damnation and hope. Chris sighed. Maybe he needed to sleep on it and decide in the morning. 

0o0

Peter walked through his quiet house, neat and orderly the way he liked it, though he noted dust had started to appear along the edges of the bookshelves that lined his office. A slow smile crept over his face. How would the once proud hunter feel dusting all Peter’s curios? Especially wearing what Peter had in mind. 

He had no problem admitting to himself he was a little shocked at how far Chris had fallen, but for all that a spark remained. For a brief instant Peter saw the old fire in Christopher's blue eyes. Well, he was going to need that fire. Peter looked forward to the challenge, to see how far he could push Chris, see where those boundaries were and slam right through them. Just because Peter had formulated this idea with revenge in mind, to dig the knife deeper into Gerard and Kate's chest, didn’t mean Peter didn't plan on having fun, and he was not shy in admitting that Christopher made his dominant instincts purr and his Alpha rumble happily. Dominating Chris, bending him to Peter’s will, would be a joy. If things went to plan, he would be able to show off his pet hunter at the next club gathering. Plans were already underway for the weekend event in two months' time, dubiously titled  _ Play with your Prey. _

He walked past the closed door of the playroom. He didn’t need to check inside to know everything was in order, nodding to himself. Everything was perfect, and one day soon he would have Chris in there. He just had to be patient and dangle the bait. Patience and wiles were what it took to catch a hunter.

Stepping into his office, he slid down into his Timko leather chair. it had cost him a small fortune, but sitting for hours poring over his latest novel or running over legal papers for the pack, he was glad for its ostentatious comfort. He pulled the contract up on his laptop, most of it straightforward. The second section of the contract was where things were going to get interesting. But the thought of regaining custody of his daughter and financial freedom should be a big enough lure for Argent to agree. Though some would argue the morality of Peter's plan, Peter saw it as a delicious means to an end, and who knew how Christoper would feel by the end? He may even enjoy, if not relish the challenge that it would bring. Of course, Peter wasn’t foolish enough to think things would go completely smoothly. This was a business transaction, and at the very least it would be wise of him to try and keep some sort of emotional distance from what he was about to undertake, but the dominant side of him was not so sure he could.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris and Peter talk contracts and some enlightening news about Chris's past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as always to the most amazing Bunnywest, not only in wrangling my unruly full stops and commas but helping feel brave enough to post each time. 
> 
> Lots of talking between Peter and Chris in this one.

Chris looked at the card in his hand, then back up to the sprawling log cabin in front of him. This was not where he pictured Peter Hale, Crime author extraordinaire and ex-lawyer, living. He’d imagined the man having some high-end luxury penthouse in Beacon City, overlooking all the lesser mortals. A two-story, picture book log cabin was not at all what he’d pictured.

He pulled his jeep up to one of the outbuildings. The engine let out a wheezing cough then died. Chris was certain it was willpower alone that kept the hunk of junk going; he just hoped it started again, otherwise it would be a long walk back to the city.

He’d been sorely tempted to ignore Peter’s offer, even going as far to throw the card in the bin, but as the hour drew closer a germ of doubt had niggled at his brain. Maybe Peter  _ could _ help. Having a Hale on his side couldn’t hurt, and if this was some plot to lure him out there alone so they could murder him? Well, that was okay too he supposed—not that he would make it easy for them. Too many years of battling monsters had honed his survival instincts to a fine edge, even if he was tired down to his very soul of always fighting.

The property was surrounded on all sides by verdant forest. It's dark depths appeared to be huddling around the house, like some silent guardian. 

He didn’t know how long he sat in the car staring at the dark woods until a polite cough outside his window brought his focus back. Peter stood smiling slightly, just the other side of his door. “Are you getting out, or just admiring the scenery?”

Chris looked out towards the trees. “It's breathtaking. I’ve always loved these woods.” 

Peter smiled, not his usual mocking, self-righteous smile but one that softened his face, making him look younger. “I feel the same. I'm always more at peace when I'm near them. ”Peter extended an arm towards the house. “Let's continue inside. I have coffee on.”

What Chris really wanted was a stiff drink, but he got a feeling Peter wouldn't approve of that. Not that Chris was looking for the man's approval, but best to start this thing off on the right foot. “Coffee sounds good. I forgot how long it takes to get out here.” Chris took a deep breath, filling his nose with the scent of pine and Peter’s spicy aftershave.

Peter gave a sly smile. “I like the solitude, and I like the chance to let my wolf out every now and then. Moonlight runs are good for the soul.”

Chris nodded. “The Hales were gifted with the fullshift gene, if I remember rightly?”

“Interesting word choice, gifted isn’t a description I would expect to hear from a hunter.” Peter's tone was guarded.

“Ex-hunter. I’ve never shared my father and sisters' prejudices,” Chris retorted quickly.

“I'm pleased. That will ensure there aren’t too many misunderstandings between us if we choose to go forth with my offer,’ Peter answered simply, leading Chris up the stairs to the wide double front doors.

Chris entered the house behind Peter and noted that though the furnishings were expensive, they were not ostentatious. The couch looks soft enough that it would feel like you were nestled in clouds, the leather soft and supple. Risking it, he ran a hand along its soft surface as he walked past. The feel and smell of leather had always stirred something in Chris that he had never really explored.

At Peter's polite cough he stopped caressing the couch. ”If you’re done fondling my furniture, come through to the kitchen for coffee.” Peter's tone, while not rude, held a tone of command. The man was used to his words and commands being followed, Chris supposed. Not wanting to annoy Peter, he followed him.

Chris slid onto one of the stools that ran along the large center island of Peters kitchen and waited while Peter fiddled about with their cups. A mug was slid towards him. Picking it up and inhaling, Chris nodded his thanks.

“So I suppose I should start things off with this,” Peter slid a file across the island to Chris. 

“What is it?” Chris eyed the papers suspiciously.

“Inside is the name of the barista, a magic student your wife hired to dose your morning coffee on the day of the hearing. She was aware of your morning routine, I’d hazard a guess.” Peter gave Chris a level look. “You visit the same coffee shop each morning regardless of your day's plans, and always order a Macchiato to go, am I correct?”

Chris arched a brow .“She had my coffee dosed?”

“Oh yes, your former wife is a vindictive soul, and she has the means to pay someone off to achieve her goal. The barista was a student druid who had run foul of several of the city’s more nefarious money lenders. He had the skill and opportunity to slip the mickey into your drink. The poison, I'm told, leaves the victim reeling like they're drunk and is almost impossible to detect, and it can be keyed so any blood test would make it look like the victim was, in fact, drunk.” 

Chris sat back, stunned. “She hated me so much that she couldn’t even let me be a father to our daughter?”

Peter slid into the seat across the counter from Chris. “Your former wife is very much Gerard’s creature, and you fell well short of what she had hoped for.  _ Weak, too soft, not a true Argent _ were some of the choice words in her letters to your father, I believe.”

“Fuck.” Chris clenched his jaw.Dammit, he really wanted a drink right now. “What can I do about it? Can any of it be proved?”

“Given time, I should be able to gather enough information for you to bring to a new judge. I'm sure you’ve guessed that the one in the original case was paid off by your father. And as I'm sure you’re aware, custody cases take money. Plus they would still want to ensure Allison went to the best home, and your current situation, I'm afraid, doesn’t look good.” Peter did not pull any punches, but Chris was oddly thankful for his blunt honesty.

Chris ground his teeth.“Thanks to my family my name is shit in this damn town. I can’t get a decent job and I live in a one bedroom flat on top of a health center.”

“And you have a drinking problem,” Peter announced flatly.

Chris bit back the denial. Damned wolves could smell a lie, so why bother? “I can get it under control.” 

“You’ll have to do better than that if you agree to work with me, Argent. I don’t deal with liars, and I won’t allow you to drink if you agree to my proposition,” Peter stated bluntly.

“I don't lie, not by omission and not by choice. If I say I won't do something I won't. If you can’t take my word, then there’s no point in continuing this conversation.” Chris stood up. 

“Sit  _ down, _ Christopher.” Peter's voice was like a whip crack, and Chis hesitated for a brief moment before he sat back down, still glaring.

“If you’ll let me continue, I was going to say that accepting my offer will give you the money—and not to be too full of myself, the gravitas—for the courts to see that you are serious as to your drinking problem.” Chris went to interrupt but Peter silenced him with a stern look. “You drink every day, and I have no doubts you had more than one before you left to come here.”

Chris wanted to squirm and hide the shame that he felt already coloring his cheeks. “It may have gotten a little out of hand,” Chris conceded softly.

Peter's tone softened,”It is not the end of the world to admit a problem, and it’s one we will tackle together. The arrangement I offer will be beneficial in many ways that you might not understand at first, but the first step is for you to look over these contracts—if you're sober enough, that is.” 

The sting in Peter’s comment had Chris’s cheeks flushing with shame again. “It was only two beers. I was worried you’d smell it on me and that whole kettle of fish would open up, but I should’ve known you’d already know. You always were good at digging into people's lives.” 

Peter didn’t look the least bit offended at Chris’s remarks. In fact, if Chris had to guess, Peter seemed pleased. “While I was a lawyer, yes, I was astoundingly good at finding out what I needed to know. And for what I plan to start with you, I needed to make sure I was holding all the cards. information is power, and I happen to like having power.”

Chris wasn’t sure how he felt about Peter digging around in his past. He didn’t have a body count like his father and sister, but there were still some hunts in his youth he still felt unsure of.

Peter smiled, almost as if he had read Chris's mind, “You know what I found out about you?” Chris found himself focused on the faint smirk Peter had, the way his lips twisted in such a way to look both haughty and seductive.

Chris shrugged. “Sure. Let me have it.”

Peter drummed his fingers in a lazy staccato on the counter as he recited what he’d found out. “Christopher Argent, only son of Dianna and Gerard Argent, older brother to Katherine. Attended Beacon City High, vice captain of the Lacrosse team, received the Fellows Arts scholarship for his sculpture  _ Stuck in time _ .” Peter smiled. “It was a very good piece. I was disappointed to see you did not continue your art.”

“Gerard said arts were fine for the soft and over-educated, but not fitting for a hunter's son. He smashed the piece and refused me permission to study at the institute.” Chris said, using the detached tone that made it easier to deal with past memories.

Peter frowned but then continued speaking. “You spent your 18th and 19th year in Japan, ostensibly perfecting your hunting techniques, but unbeknownst to your father you had formed friendships with members of Satomi Ito’s clan, and studied mysticism and druidic arts with their emissary.”  _ Well shit, _ Chris thought. He hadn’t expected Peter to unearth that. “No one outside of Satomi’s family knew that you put those skills to good use when you returned home, taking measures to counter the work of your father’s misdeeds. Your work as a hunter was thorough and fair-handed, earning you respect from the allied supernatural council, but it also earned you the ire of your father and sister. You were a problem, and every step you took in the right direction made your father and his coterie take two drastic steps in the opposite direction.” Peter stood and went to the counter, returning with two tall glasses of water. Handing one to Chris, he sipped from the other. “Shall I continue?”

“You're on a roll, might as well,” Chris answered, ignoring the steely look that Peter threw him.

“Your father married you off to Victoria in hopes of her tempering your more worrisome aspects. He was convinced she would be able to use her commanding nature and her feminine wiles to curb your nature, bending you into something more malleable.”

Peter again stopped, and quirked an eyebrow at Chris, who shrugged. “You haven't lied yet, so continue with your assessment of me.”

Peter's nostrils flared in irritation but he continued, “For a time you behaved. You’re a man who seeks a strong guiding hand and a firm touch, and I’d hazard a guess that you felt Victoria actually cared for you. An unhealthy attachment to sentimentality seems to be your downfall. Your reliance on alcohol seems to start from that point. Was it to dull the knowledge that you were just a pawn in your fathers game, a piece for Victoria to move as she so desired?”

Chris took a sip from the glass, hand shaking slightly, not caring if Peter saw it. “I saw that my life wasn’t mine. My only joy came when Allison was born. I would do anything for her, and they knew it.” God, he needed a drink right now. Just one—to stop the tremors, to clear his head.

“And yet, you were willing to risk that to stand up in court against your father and sister.” Peter's eyes bored into him. “You had to know that Victoria would see this as an act of war and decide that you were no longer fit to be in Allison’s life.”

“I couldn’t—I—they tried to murder your entire family, how could I sit by and allow them to get away with it?” Chris rubbed a hand across his mouth. Dragging this up was stupid. He lived with a lot of regrets, and yes, if he had kept his mouth shut maybe he’d still have his daughter, but could Chris have lived with himself, lying about what his family had done? No, it would have come out eventually anyway, and Chris would have been further implicated in his family's crimes.

Peter sat back in his seat and smiled softly. “Right now, you probably want a drink, and to get as far from me as possible. But I should tell you my intent was not to upset you, but to make clear I know what sort of man you are, and I respect the choices that you made, even the hard ones.”

Chris blinked. The words, though simple, seemed to cut through the fog in his brain. He hardly knew Peter, yet his approval and the way it made him feel was oddly calming.

“Right, now let's have a look over these.” Peter tapped his finger on the manila folder that contained what Chris could only guess was a contract. “Right off the bat, I want to get the money discussed and over with. I find talk of money boring, and not the most important aspect of this arrangement.”

“Okay, I guess.” Chris took another sip of water.

Peter steepled his fingers and gave Chris a sunny smile. “What I am proposing is a monthly stipend of five thousand dollars, and at the end of our arrangement the sum of twelve million to be deposited into your account.”

Chris spat out the mouthful of water. “You can’t be serious.” He mopped the water with a cloth, barely aware of what he was doing. 

“Oh but I am, Christopher. Once we discuss the contract, you’ll see why. I will also help you regain full custody of your daughter.” 

Chris sat down in shock. Jesus, this could be the answer to all his prayers.

“Right. Now we have that out of the way, let's discuss the contracts.” Chris did not miss that Peter had used the plural. There would be more than one contract. Interest buzzed inside of him. As long as Peter didn’t plan on having him kill someone, Chris was sure he could deal with whatever Peter brought to the table if it meant getting Allison back. 

“As you can see, the first pages of the contract are straightforward enough. As well as the promised payment at the end of the 12 months, you will also receive a weekly allowance to spend how you wish. I would also suggest quitting your job at the stockyards, I sense the only enjoyment you get from the job is the animals.“ Peter pointed to the pages that sat on the counter top. 

Chris picked it up and started skimming through the pages. “So, you want me to be a live-in helper?”

Peter leant against the marble countertop, his arms loosely folded across his chest. His smile was guarded. “That’s part of it. When I'm writing I become fixated and tend to let day to day banalities slip. Your job will be to assist me, run errands, ensure the house is clean and the fridge stocked — mundane annoyances, but they still need to be done.” 

Chris shrugged. Victoria had always bitched him out for being a 50s housewife. It didn’t seem like much of a hardship, and it certainly wasn’t worth twelve million.

“That doesn't sound too bad.” Chris looked over the first pages. It seemed like a normal run of the mill employment contract.”What’s the catch?”

Peter smiled. “Astute as always. Well before you agree, you need to realise this is not some normal contract between employer and an employee. There are other aspects that must be agreed upon.”

“Such as?” Chris was starting to feel nervous, but for the chance to be a real father again to Allison, to have enough money to set them up comfortably, he was willing to do almost anything.

Peter lips quirked in a smirk. “As you know, recently I attained the Alpha spark through unpleasant circumstances and it led to complications with my family. My sister, bless her, is a wonderful woman, but she is the Alpha of our pack and could not abide having a second Alpha, even one as devilishly handsome and smart as myself.” 

“I see false modesty is not a thing for you, then.” Chris's mouth turned down trying to hide a grin.

“Why should it be? Should I pretend to be less than I am? What is the point of that? Regardless, back to the matter at hand. As an Alpha, I have needs both emotional and physical. These needs are intense, and in a normal circumstance I would find a mate and start my own pack, but I don't want that. My ties to my former Pack and Alpha are more than enough to keep me from going feral.” Peter narrowed his eyes at Chris. “Yes, your hunter’s brain doubtless wondered about that.”

Chris gave a small shrug. He wouldn’t lie about it, feral Alphas were a problem for the werewolf and human population, but for some unexplainable reason he found he trusted Peter at his word. “What exactly are these needs? And where do I come in?”

Peter moved around the counter until he stood next to where Chris sat. “I have always craved certain things, things that are lacking in more  _ vanilla _ relationships. I require a person I can dominate, in both day to day life and in the bedroom. I’m a long term member of an exclusive club in Beacon City, Palais de la douleur _.” Palace of pain _ , Chris translated silently. “Its exclusivity and the high regard of its patrons have made it quite famous, though you may not have heard of it yourself?”

Chris shook his head. Where the hell was this conversation going? He came here for a job offer, but this wasn’t anything like he’d been expecting. Peter took a sip of his coffee, eyes bright. “It's a fetish club, catering to both human and supernatural alike. It's owned by Deucalion Blackwood, who I  _ assume _ you are familiar with.”

Chris again nodded, not sure what to say, but Peter didn’t seem put off by Chris's silence. He swallowed again, his throat dry. This was taking a different turn than he’’d been expecting, but he decided to hear Peter out. 

“BDSM, Christopher. You're aware of it, yes? I’ve found certain areas of kink mesh well with what my Wolf needs.” Peter tilted his head and gave a soft, mocking smirk.

Jesus. Chris needed a shot of whisky, but instead he drank the glass of water Peter had given him. “You mean whips and chains and leather-clad Doms?” 

Peter laughed, a rich sound that Chris found not unpleasant, if slightly scary. “Well in a crass sort of generalisation, yes. I crave submission in my play partners, in both sexual acts and in their daily life. I would take control over what you wear, what you eat, and who you see, but I would also take control of you sexually. As I said, this would not be a normal arrangement. We would embark on a Master/slave relationship” Peter’s eyes were not mocking but he did see the challenge.

“Oh. But I'm not—what is it called? A submissive,” Chris blurted out. He should be hightailing it out of here as fast as his legs would carry him, away from this insanity, but he wanted to know more. It frightened him and made him feel strangely giddy at the same time.

“I wouldn’t be so certain of that, Christopher. Believe me, I’m very good at sniffing out subs, and beneath that tough exterior is a sweet subbie just begging for someone to command him.” Chris let out a deep breath. Regardless of if Peter was right or not, he was going to go through with this for Allison. He could play the part if he needed to.

Peter smirked almost like he knew what Chris was thinking, but that was just his imagination. Werewolves couldn’t read minds, could they? Fuck, he hoped not.

The smirk on Peter's face grew predatory, a spark of animal glee in Peter's blue eyes that were trained on him. “There is also another aspect you need to be aware of: I am a sadist, and I enjoy seeing how much pain I can give my submissive. I enjoy the look on a sub’s face when pain morphs into indescribable joy.” Peter moved close enough that Chris could feel Peter's breath on the skin of his neck.

Chris was sure Peter could smell both the fear and nervous excitement he felt. Why did the idea of Peter hurting him make his balls throb? it was wrong. He didnt want a fucking werewolf beating him. He should leave, and never look back.

“You want to hurt me, make me scream, but you say it will make me feel good? I don’t get it. I think you have the wrong person for this—unless this is some twisted way for you to finally get payback.” Chris sat up straighter, looking Peter square in the eye.

Peter stepped back and opened his arms, hands out flat. “I’m being honest with you, Christopher. I believe the pain I could give you would help you feel that you have atoned for your family's sins, the sins you carry as your own. It would bring me great pleasure to help you find catharsis, and I feel that in service, observing High Protocol would also allow you to take a step back, let someone else be in charge of everything.” Peter spoke so damn calmly, and it did make sense, in a twisted kind of way, to let Peter hurt him, control him. Maybe that would help wash some of the familial guilt away. Besides, he would be doing this for Allison, for a chance at a new life.

Chris's mind suddenly latched onto something Peter had said. “You said sexually. Does that mean you want to fuck me?” Could he do that, have sex with Peter? He’d never considered sleeping with a man before, but the idea certainly didn’t repulse him. Scare him? Fuck, yes. Peter Hale was as dangerous as he was beautiful. Chris was no fool, he’d hunted predators all his life and Peter was one hundred percent predator, but Chris refused to lie to himself. He was attracted to Peter Hale. Even if he didn’t fully understand the reasons, he had to admit that there was something about the werewolf that enticed him. 

“Yes, Chris. I’m gay. I like to fuck pretty men, and you are  _ very  _ pretty, even if you are older than my usual submissives. But don’t worry your silver head about that right now. Though the idea of bending you over and fucking that virgin ass is alluring, I won’t be rushing you into that, and I believe in informed consent. Of course, if you agree to this contract, well. All bets are off.” Peter tapped a finger on the pile of papers. “Your contract also includes a checklist and a health check I’ll insist you undertake.”

Chris lifted the papers and skimmed through it till he found the checklist. He knew he must look quite comical to Peter, his eyes bugging out over the list of kinks. “I don’t even know what half of these are.”

“And that, Christopher, is why I am giving you a week to read and research before you return to me with this document signed and ready to move in.” Peter stepped back, going to the extravagant coffee maker and pouring two shots of espresso.

Chris kept his eyes on the paper. Some of the things listed sounded scary as hell, but others made his cock twitch at the idea of them. “Can I ask you some questions about this now?”

“Of course.” Peter slid the small demitasse cup forward and Chris picked it up, sniffing the rich bitter brew. 

“Okay so here at the start it talks about choosing a safe word. Would you honour them regardless of the situation?” Chris took a sip and had to suppress a moan at how good the coffee tasted.

“In any scene we do and while we are in a Master/slave dynamic that word will bring things to an immediate halt. But I caution you, I have an edge over most Doms. I can smell if you are really in distress or whether you are just playing me.” Peter answered.

“Ok, no faking out just because I'm scared.”

“Being afraid of the unknown is good, Christopher. And I will ensure that going forward, you understand everything we do, or at least the reasoning behind it.” Peter answered honestly—well, Chris  _ hoped _ so at least.

“Master/slave?” Chris asked, wondering what the hell that was.

“During your stay here, you will accede to my wishes. If I want you wearing nothing but a pair of pretty panties and heels all day, you’ll wear pretty pink panties and heels.”

Chris’s cheeks burned red and he let out a less than manly giggle. “I don't think I would look very good dressed like that.” 

Peter frowned. “If I say you will, you’ll nod sweetly and say ‘Yes, Sir.’ In BDSM, Master/slave, is a relationship in which one individual serves another in a consensual authority-exchange structured relationship. Unlike Dominant/submissive structures found in BDSM in which love is often the core value, service and obedience are often the core values in Master/slave structure. This is what I crave, and what my wolf needs.”

Chris swallowed at the tone in Peter's voice, steel wrapped in velvet, and was left with no doubt that if Peter wanted him in panties, he would have him in panties.

“You will address me as Sir or Master. I like to observe High Protocol most days, others will be more relaxed. If you agree to this, we will of course go through an adjustment period and I will train you.” Peter nodded to the paperwork. “I believe it’s time for you to go home and think about what I’m offering you. It may seem very one-sided to you now, but believe me, I think you will benefit from this as much as I.” 

Chris sat there, trying to wrap his mind around the offer on the table. He pulled the paperwork towards him. He needed time to think, to let everything sink in. At the moment it almost felt surreal, like some writer’s imaginings, not real life. His fingers played with the edge of the papers. “You're willing to lay down some serious money here. I don't get it. Couldn't you get someone from your club.” 

Peter gave a nod. “If it were only that simple. Believe me when I say I don’t make this offer lighty. You may not remember, but we met long before the unpleasantness between your family and mine.”

Chris sighed. ”You mean before my family tried to burn yours alive. You don't need to sugar coat it, Hale. I'm well aware of what my family is.”

Peter raised a brow at Chris’s tone.”Yes, that’s my point. The first time we met you had come with your mother to one of my mother’s tedious high teas. You looked as out of place as I felt.”

A vague recollection stirred in Chris’s mind. “I had just turned eighteen. It was right before Gerard sent me off to Japan.” Peter gave a small nod. “You...you had a copy of The Hulk. I can’t remember the issue, but you were excited about a character in it.”

Peter gave a broad smile that lit up his face, and Chris was momentarily taken aback by how handsome he looked with the veneer of pompous asshole set aside. 

“Wolverine's first appearance. Well technically, he was in a teaser panel in issue 180, but 181 was when he really showed up. I was obsessed with him.” Peter's smile slid away. “I lost most of my collection in the fire.”

Chris wanted the ground to swallow him up. It wasn’t only belongings the Hales lost. Talia’s husband Joe, their youngest daughter Cora, and Peter's best friend Enoch lost their lives in the blaze. Laura received burns so severe that only her werewolf healing kept her alive, though still in a coma. The cost of his family's insane vendetta against the Hales had been appalling and tragic, and Chris wore the guilt like a brand on his soul

Peter shook off his malaise and shot Chris a firm look. “That’s in the past. What we have in front of us is a way to move forward, and I feel it will be mutually beneficial to both of us.” Peter stood and motioned for Chris to stand as well. “I feel I have bombarded you with enough information for now. Go home and read through the contracts, and I suggest you have a look at the websites I’ve suggested. They’re listed inside the contract packet.”

Chris took the packet. “I have to be honest with you. This is a lot. And as for the other stuff, I'm not sure I'm the man for what you want.” Chris gave a small smile. “I'm so vanilla it hurts.”

Peter gave a small mysterious smile in return. “I think you might surprise yourself, Christopher. Promise me you will research and read before you make any decisions, and in a week's time you can give me an answer.”

Peter extended his hand and Chris took it. Peter's grasp was strong and sure, and his voice dropped lower as he spoke. “Believe me, Christopher. It would make me very happy if you said yes.”

Chris’s breath hitched at the husky tone in Peter's voice, and the brief red flare in Peter's eyes made his heart beat faster. it wasn't fear, but something else that Chris couldn’t quite explain.

“I’ll speak to you in a week.” Chris let go of Peter’s hand and made a hasty retreat to his jeep, praying to all the gods greater and lesser that the damn thing would start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you thank you for reading my Stuffs™


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris stumbles around the internet in search of knowledge, and Peter has a surprising offer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to all who have started this fic with me, I'm so happy you have taken the chance to read it, again a huge and most over-the-top thank you to Bunny west Xxx

Chris made the drive home to Beacon City on autopilot and his eyes kept traveling to the manila folder on the passenger's seat. Was Peter's offer for real? Part of him was horrified by the idea—he would be no more than a live-in sex slave, something for Peter to beat on when the feeling took him—but deep down, Chris felt that wasn’t quite true. 

Once home, he threw the manila folder onto his rickety table and went in search of his bourbon, feeling a twinge of guilt as he dragged the bottle out, not bothering with a glass. Sinking down into the threadbare couch, he looked over at the table. No, not tonight. He could read through it in the morning; his head was still spinning after the conversation with Peter. But by the time the first slug of bourbon had warmed his belly, his curiosity got the better of him. Reaching over, he snagged the folder and flipped through the contract inside. The images the wording in the contract evoked caused him to reach blindly under the couch for his laptop. He needed pictures to go with the words.

Dragging his beat-up old laptop out, he opened up a new tab in his browser and typed in BDSM. The first images were pretty tame, so he started to search for more specific terms he had seen in the contract.

_ Holy fuck.  _ Peter wanted to do that to him? 

He moved his ass on the couch. The images, while they shocked the shit out of him, sparked something new. He pushed the laptop aside and got up, grabbing the folder and sifting through the contents until he found the page titled Checklist. There were margins alongside the listed kinks, columns to mark  _ yes  _ or  _ no _ or  _ willing to try, _ and another to list experience level. Well, it was sure as hell going to be zero on pretty much most of them. While never a slouch in the bedroom, he and Victoria were hardly what anyone would call adventurous, and before Victoria he had never had the time to act on his interests. Train, hunt, and work at the gun store had been his life, even during school.

The idea of sleeping with a man did not frighten Chris. Though his woefully sparse sexual experience had only ever been with female partners, he had never ruled out finding a man who he connected with. Chris had always known that he landed on more of a spectrum where his sexuality was concerned. He found himself attracted to the person, not the gender. That wasn’t something he had ever been able to be honest with his family about. If his father had gotten a whiff that his son wasn’t on the straight and narrow path of sexuality, Chris was pretty certain his father would have shipped him off to one of those hunter camps he’d heard whispers about. His mom, she would have understood. She’d always encouraged Chris to take his own path and find a better future than the one Gerard had mapped out. 

Chris sat back down on the couch and looked at the list. He picked one of the words off the list. Okay, that didn’t look too scary. He typed it into the search engine.

What the hell—how did that even  _ fit? _ As he watched the video, his initial shock turned into a vague warmth in his chest and neck. The young guy seemed to be enjoying it. He was strapped to some kind of bench, and judging by the way he was moaning while the Dom slid his fingers in and out of his hole, it did seem enjoyable. Chris could feel his own internal muscles clenching. What would that feel like? It didn’t look all that scary, but when the leather clad dominant pulled out the dildo, Chris's eyes grew wide. He’d never even slid his own finger up there, let alone the monster dildo that was on the screen. 

Jesus christ. Chris ran a hair through his hair, grimacing at how oily it felt. Taking a deep breath, Chris tried to think about how the images on the screen in front of him made him feel. Was he shocked? Yes. But did it repulse him? No, apart from wondering how something that—well,  _ large, _ would fit in that space. His mind helpfully supplied the phrase  _ lube, and lots of it. _ The more he watched, the more he got into the scene. Realising he was imagining himself in the twink’s position had him letting out a gasp. Shit. Peter might be onto something here. Although Chris couldn’t fully commit to the idea of him being submissive, he could see himself as a rather receptive bottom. 

He pulled up another name on the list and typed it into the search bar. This time the video showed an older sub, closer to Chris’s age. He was wearing nothing but a black collar and had the most serene look on his face. Damn what would it take to feel like that? The man looked totally blissed out, the Dom’s gravelly voice praising, then calling him his little slut. Chris shifted, dirty talk had always embarrassed him. He always stumbled over the words, and Victoria's annoyed eyerolls had put a solid stop to trying it again, but to hear Peter call him a good boy but then gently castigate him, calling him a needy slut? A bolt of heat traveled to Chris's cock, and he rubbed himself absently through his jeans.

The dom had his sub kneel in a position that had his back arched to show the ribbons of muscle, head bowed between his stretched out arms, hands gently clasped in front. Drink forgotten, Chris found himself drawn into the scene in front of him, entranced by how the Dom moved his partner about until he was in the position he wanted, using just a mere touch of the riding crop he held. The sub moved with a fluid grace that Chris was sure was beyond him.

His phone let out an annoying ping to announce a text message. He was sorely tempted to ignore it, but former hunting partners still would occasionally message or ring him for advice. Shutting down his laptop, he reached over and grabbed the phone.

The phone number was unknown, but as soon as he read the message he knew who it was from. 

“I am pleased you came tonight. I hope I did not scare you off.”

Chris smiled at the message. “I’m not easily scared, Hale. But it's a lot to take in.”

He could see the little dots moving on the screen, Peter typing a response. “Are you scrolling through the internet on a research binge, Christopher?”

Smirking, Chris typed a quick answer. “I can neither confirm or deny.”

“Are you enjoying what you may or may not be watching?” Peter's answer had Chris grinning.

“It was...interesting,” Chris replied. 

“What did you watch?” Chris could tell Peter to fuck off, that it was none of his business, but what was the harm in telling him? He could play along a bit.

“I just watched a young twink get fingered open.”

“And how did that make you feel?” Peter’s text came back rapidly.

“Umm, not sure. Curious maybe?” God, this was like being a teenager. His ears were burning with how embarrassed he was, but he had to admit he was also turned on.

“Ahh. Curiosity is good. What happened next?” Peter prompted. 

Chris sat back against the couch, unbuttoning the top button of his jeans—things were feeling a little constricted. “The big guy in leather, the dom, he brought out this huge dildo.”

“Was it really that large? Or did it just shock you?” The fucker even put a smiley face at the end of the message.

“It was fucking HUGE!” Chris texted back quickly.

“Language, Christopher. Send me the link I’ll tell you if it was huge or not.” How the fuck did that fucker sound so smug and superior in a damn text message?

Chris chewed his bottom lip. Fine. If Peter wanted the link, he would send it to him. Chris quickly typed out the url and sent it to Peter, quietly mortified. He was a grown-ass man, and he was freaking out over some porn. Chris side-eyed the barely- touched bottle that sat on the coffee table 

While he waited for Peter to text back, he typed another keyword into his search bar. It should be harmless enough. After all, how hard core could something called Spanking be? The video started and Chris sat back and watched. Five minutes into the video ,Chris was unsure whether he was terrified or incredibly aroused at the idea of Peter doing that to him. Heat travelled down to his pants as he tried to imagine what it would feel like, to leave yourself open, to actually  _ want _ someone to spank you. The thought of being punished but then forgiven, all through one simple act, had a certain appeal to Chris.

He typed out a one worded message. “Spanking?”

He phone rang in response. Chris answered, already feeling foolish, but Peter spoke before Chris had the chance. “Spankings for punishment, yes. I prefer, when it’s for punishment, to use a paddle or cane, but for maintenance, my hand. The same with erotic spanking.”

“Uhm,” was all Chris could say, his mind fixating on the idea of the cane, the images that came to mind causing him to bite a knuckle to stifle the soft moan that nearly fell from his lips.

“I looked at the link you sent me. The dildo that so shocked you, I'm afraid to say, is rather tame on the size scale. But I believe that whole series of videos is working the young sub up to taking his master’s fist.” Peter's voice was calm, and utterly matter of fact.

“Um wow, I—uh—yeah.” Chris again was astounded with his own linguistic elegance.

“Don't worry boy, all things just take a little time and patience. But I want to talk about something else. A simple task, so to speak,” Peter answered. 

“Task?” Chris answered, nerves warring with curiosity.

“You said you were unsure if you were submissive. How would you react to having choices and decisions taken out of your hands?” 

Chris again glanced at the bottle and a nervous feeling fluttered in his belly. “What sort of things?”

“To start with, I’d suggest that each time you feel the need to drink, you’ll text or call me and ask my permission.” Peter's voice was still calm, but there was just the edge of command in his tone, enough to send spikes of something through Chris’s chest.

“So what, each time I want a drink I have to call you?” Chris shifted about on the chair. The thought of someone limiting his access to his one crutch both terrified him and filled him with a flutter of hope. “I mean, I could end up calling you a lot, especially this week. I have to deal with Gerard’s lawyers about some family shit.”

“Then it’s perfect. I don't care how many times you call me, Christopher. We’ll endeavour to find ways for you to deal with the stress rather than end up drunk in a pile of your own vomit.” Peter said, with that tone that had Chris wanting to say yes for all the strangest reasons.

“Starting from when?” Chris was tempted to reach out and down the bottle before Peter answered.

“I think tonight would be a good place to start.” 

“Just like that?” 

“Yes. Believe me the pain and discomfort will be worthwhile in the end. This addiction of yours has gone on long enough. I’m not willing to enter into this contract if you’re not willing to abstain from alcohol.” 

Chris let out a long breath through his nose. He could do this. He'd beaten the booze before, and the chance to get Allison back, to prove once and for all he was a better man than his family, would make the task, if not pleasant, at least doable. 

“OK, but I should warn you, I'm probably going to argue at best and be downright hostile at worst. Drying out is not a pretty thing with me,” Chris muttered.

“Oh, don’t worry your pretty head boy. Your tantrums won’t bother me in the slightest. In fact I rather relish the thought of it.” He could hear Peter smiling through the phone.

“You're going to keep a bloody tally sheet on my mistakes, aren't you?” Chris accused, but he smiled despite the worry of just how he would be punished.

“Smart boy. Of course I am. In the spirit of honesty I want to build here, I’d remind you that I’ll also be rewarding good behaviour. I believe I did set out rewards and punishments in your checklist,” Peter answered.

Chris let out a loud groan and looked over at the open bottle. “OK well in the same spirit of honesty, I have a bottle open now.”

“Well, what are you planning on doing with it  _ now? _ ” Peters voice held an edge that told Chris that if he was sensible he wouldn’t provoke him, but he wasn’t feeling very sensible. 

“Well, I was planning on getting black out drunk and falling asleep on the lounge.” Chris huffed. 

“The plan has changed, Christopher.” There was something in the way that Peter said his name that had Chris sit up. 

“Yes, Peter.” 

Silence. 

“Um, yes Sir.”

“Good boy. Now take the bottle and tip what’s left down the drain,” Peter prompted. Chris sighed. There was still a good half ounce left in the bottle, and it's not like Peter would know if he didnt, right?

“You do know if I try, I can hear your heartbeat through the phone, Christopher— perks of Alphahood. Now take the bottle to the sink.” This time there was no mistaking the tone or the meaning behind the words.

Chris wanted to tell Peter to go fuck himself. That he was a grown-ass man and could do whatever the fuck he liked and he didn’t need a nanny telling him not to drink.

Except he did, really. It was what he’d needed all along. But the shame and hurt made him want to snarl and fight.

“Christopher, you are going to fight me on many things and I will enjoy it thoroughly when I take you to task over them, but this, I'm afraid, is non-negotiable. You're afraid to deal with the world without the filter of alcohol, but fear is to be embraced and challenged. Do this for me, and the world will open up to you, I promise,” Peter said.

“Okay, fine. Just...uh...god this sounds stupid even thinking it, but, ah. Would you stay on the phone a bit?” Chris cringed inwardly at how needy that sounded but if he was going to do this, he might need to be talked out of going to the bar.

“Of course. I would never leave you alone at such a time. Once you have poured out the bottle, I want you to go back to your laptop. I have a few sites I want you to look at, and while I'm on the phone we can discuss what you're feeling.”

Chris stood at the sink watching as the amber fluid ran down the plug hole. He nearly baulked twice, but Peters calm, confident tone in his ear kept him on task. When the bottle was rinsed out and put in the trash Chris felt a momentary pang, but Peter's voice was in his ear, purring at how proud he was, and it was crazy, almost scary, how those words almost overshadowed the longing for a drink.

The next few hours were a bit of a haze, Peter patiently answering the questions Chris would randomly throw at him, from kink to Peter's writing and law studies. In turn Peter managed to get Chris to talk about some of the less painful aspects of his life, like his mom and Allison. The niggling urge was still there, but less of a growling beast and more of a whining need. He had gone through worse, and was sure the worst was yet to come—but for now, with a clear head, he felt somehow lighter than he had in many years. 

“I want you to spend this week researching things you would like to try, and don’t let fear of the unknown or embarrassment come into it. I also would like you to go and see my doctor tomorrow. I want to know if there is anything I need to watch for, and I want to know you are physically up to what we are about to embark on.” This was not up for negotiation, Chris could already tell by Peter's tone.

“Yeah okay. Make the appointment.” 

“I’ll send you the details through in the morning. Are you working this week? I need to know when would suit you best.” 

Chris sighed— this was going to be a tricky conversation. “I’ve taken the week off. Kate has put plans into motion for a retrial. I'm trying to get information that will stop that in its tracks.” 

Peter made a low sound in his throat, a grow. “I’m aware of your sister's attempts. This is not your fight, Christopher.” Everything angry in him screamed to tell Peter to go fuck himself, but that sensible side, the side that desperately wanted to be the father Allison deserved, stopped him from uttering the words. “Do you really think you can add anything to the prosecution's case?” Peter's question was valid, and nothing he hadn't asked himself.

“To be honest I don’t know, but I feel so damn useless,” Chris muttered.

“That’s only natural, but anything you might do would only further your family’s ire towards you and perhaps paint an even bigger target on your back. As of now, I have a vested interest in keeping you safe and whole,” Peter answered.

“You know, I still don't understand what you're going to get out of this arrangement. Why me?” Chris fiddled with the frayed edge of his shirt while he waited for Peter's response.

‘I suppose it would be supercilious of me to say  _ yours is not the reason why? _ ” 

“Are you misquoting Tennyson to me, Mr Hale?” 

Chris smiled at the soft chuckle on the other end of the line. “Guilty as charged. But to answer your question, I find you fascinating. And I won't lie. the allure of taming you is intoxicating,” The way Peter said that caused Chris’s stomach to flip-flop. 

“Are you so sure I need  _ taming,  _ Mr Hale?” Chris yawned and shook himself. This was the most enjoyable evening he had had in a long time. 

“Oh, I’m very sure, Christopher. But perhaps we should call it a night for now. I can hear you yawning.” Peter's voice was quiet and kind, and Chris felt a pang at the thought of hanging up. He hadn't thought about drinking, or the demons that drove him to drink, while he spoke to Peter, so caught up in the easy conversation. He let out a soft huff of annoyance at himself, and Peter of course picked up on it.

“What is it, Christopher?” 

Chris covered his eyes with his hand as he spoke “This is gonna sound pathetic or worse, but you said we needed to be honest, right?” 

Peter made a soothing sound down the line. “Of course. What is it, Christopher?” 

Chris took a deep breath, tugging the short hairs of his beard, a nervous habit. “I'm worried that when I hang up, the voice in my head that says I need a drink to sleep through the night is going to come back loud and clear, and I'll give in.” 

Peter was quiet on the other end of the line, and Chris felt like kicking himself. He had admitted his weakness. Would Peter want to reconsider his offer, would he see Chris as too much trouble, too damaged? “Look, I know I'm more trouble than you bargained for, Peter—” 

Chris stopped at the low growl that Peter made,.“Don’t presume to tell me what I feel, Christopher. My silence was not condemnation. In fact, I’m very proud of you for admitting that. Once again you've proved to me your value. I was merely gathering my thoughts.”

Chris sat forward, waiting for Peter to continue. “Christopher, would you be willing to let me guide you in this, take the reins?”

Chris tilted his head in thought. “Like another test?”

Peter made a soft sound of agreement. “In a manner of speaking, but I see it more as me guiding and helping you get through the night.” Chris felt his muscles relax, tension he hadn’t known he was carrying leaving him. “Do you have a normal evening routine, Christopher?” 

Chris thought about the question and let out a small, bitter laugh. “Does drinking till I pass out count?” 

Peter made a disapproving sound. “Habits we shall soon change, pet, but no. I meant before you separated from your wife, was there anything you enjoyed doing before you retired for the night?” 

Huh. “I used to read to Allison. She liked to listen to the sound of my voice before she fell asleep, then I guess I would read till my eyes grew tired.” 

Moments ticked by, and Chris waited for Peter to respond. Phone tucked against his chin, Chris moved about ,closing his laptop and checking windows and doors, an ingrained habit from all the years under Gerard’s gaze. “Firstly, I would suggest first a shower let the day wash from your skin,” Peter finally said. Chris hummed in agreement—a shower did sound good, even in the small confined shower/bathtub. “Put the phone on speaker so we can continue to talk while you wash.” Chris blushed at the thought, which was entirely stupid—Peter would be on speaker, not video call, but unbidden thoughts of Peter watching him bathe sent a shiver down Chris’s spine.

“Now Christopher, don’t dawdle. The hour is late, and you have a busy day tomorrow.” Peter spoke brusquely, and Chris found himself hurrying to comply. 

He set the phone to speaker and placed it on top of the worn and marked sink top. “Can you hear me OK?” Chris sat on the edge of the tub and tugged his boots off , throwing them through the door to the bedroom floor beyond. He wiggled his socked toes.

“Yes I can, pet. gGet the shower running before you strip down, I have my doubts that the rat-hole you call home has adequate heating.” 

  
Chris let out a soft huff. “Not really, but I'm used to the cold.” Old images came flooding back of cold showers, frozen hands, and not wanting to cry.

Peter’s voice calling his name pulled him out of the dark memories. “Strip now Christopher, but don’t let me hear you throw your clothes on the floor.” Chris moved to turn the taps on, letting the water run. The place might be run down but the hot water system worked a dream. As steam filled the small bathroom, Chris stripped his shirt off, and a childish part of his brain was tempted just to dump it on the floor— right until he heard Peter’s dark chuckle on the phone. “Don’t test me, pet. I know what you're thinking.” 

Folding his shirt, Chris placed it on the toilet seat “You keep doing that and I'm going to think werewolves have hidden psychic traits or something.”

Peter's deep chuckle filled the small bathroom. “Hardly, pet. I just know brats when I see them, or in your case, hear them.” 

Chris let out a chuff of laughter. “Brat, pet—what's with the affectations?” He unbuttoned his jeans and slid them and his underwear down while waiting for Peter's answer. 

“Old habits, and I will admit I’m testing to see how you react. Some find the use of pet names soothing and affectionate, and others prefer to be called harsher things. How do you feel about it?” 

Chris threw his pants on top of his shirt, rubbing his naked arms. The steam had warmed the room marginally but it was still chilly Stepping under the stream of hot water he let out a happy sigh. Reaching for the body wash ,he remembered Peter’s question. “To be honest, I'm not sure how I feel about it. Terms of affection and endearments weren’t part of my upbringing.” 

He tipped his head back and let the water run through his hair, Peter’s voice, tinny in the enclosed space, filled his ears. “Perhaps we’ll see what names work for you and what ones you don’t care for.” Peter let out a soft ,almost purring growl.“I’m imagining how you look right now, Christopher—all that naked flesh, wet and slippery.” 

Chris smiled at the almost hungry tone in Peter’s voice. He had forgotten how viscerally pleasing it was to stir lust and want in another person. Before he could let his wandering mind get the better of him, Chris stepped out of the shower, listening while Peter talked about various things, the sound of his voice almost as soothing as the first warm burn of a good whisky.

Chris toweled himself dry and slipped on a pair of loose sleep pants, moving the phone to his small bedside table. “Christopher, have you ever enjoyed the attentions of a good barber?” 

The strangeness of the question had Chris smiling. “I can’t say I have. Why do you ask?” He settled on his bed, waiting for Peter's answer. 

”Well, while I do find your beard rather attractive, I think it, and you, could do with a little pampering.” Chris arched a brow. What was Peter going on about?

“Okay?”was all Chris could think to say as he slid under the covers.

“Leave it with me, pet. now would you like me to continue talking while you fall asleep?” There was no mocking in Peter's tone, just genuine care, and it made Chris feel something he hadn’t felt since his mother had been alive. Care and compassion were things that had been absent in his life for so long. 

“Would you mind?”He winced as the words came out of his mouth, hating the neediness in his tone. 

“I don’t mind at all. I could read aloud to you if you wanted?” 

Chris lay his head on the cool pillow and smiled softly to himself. “That would be fine.”

Peter's soft voice floated up from the phone. “Call me Ishmael. Some years ago—never mind how long precisely—” Chris let himself sink against the pillow while listening to Peter read, his mind drifting, images of sea captains and great white whales filling his head.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading my stuffs™


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris begins his first week of sobriety, visits a doctor, gets a visit from his future master, and is made to do yoga)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No new tags to add to this chapter, some soft before we start getting into things. Hope you enjoy.  
> Always thankful for the Majestic Bunnywest magic grammar mojo

Chris woke feeling clearer than he had in months. It was as strange as it was welcome—no clenching gut or blinding headache, just a dull grumble from his stomach, making him aware he hadn't eaten yesterday. Throwing the covers back he suddenly remembered how he had fallen asleep last night, Peter's voice quietly taking him on a journey with Ishmael. Jesus. Peter had read to him, and Chris had actually fallen asleep. 

Part of him felt like he should be embarrassed by his uncharacteristic neediness the night before, but a more detached part saw it for what it was. Peter had been a lifeline of sorts, had stopped him from falling into his usual self-destructive habit, and had presented him with an option to finally start anew. He had to admit, he was terrified at the thought of facing life without the numbing haze of alcohol in his system. But being able to be a proper father to Allison, that was going to be his driving force, getting her away from Victoria and the twisted plans of his family. He could do this, and having Peter at his back supporting him gave him a strange sense of comfort.

His phone had two new messages, one from the clinic Peter had insisted that Christopher need to visit, the second from the man himself. He threw on a pair of jeans, snatching his phone up, and headed to the cramped kitchen. Coffee pot on, he scrolled through the messages. The Clinic wanted him in at 11am. Chris checked his watch. That gave him an hour and half— enough time for him to try to talk himself out of going, he thought to himself.

Sitting on the wobbly kitchen chair, Chris opened Peter’s message and smiled. There was a cheery morning message, followed by several links. Chris tapped on them and they opened up onto pages outlining what Chris could expect to go through the next few days while he detoxed. He knew most of it from last time he got sober. Peter had also included a list of foods and drinks that would help ease the symptoms, and Chris was touched. Peter was showing a level of caring about Chris’s wellbeing that Chris had never shown himself.

He quickly typed out a message of thanks and a promise to attend both the clinic and get in the foods Peter had suggested. He felt good, though nervous. He knew all too well that by this evening his skin would be crawling, his brain alive with the horrors of years gone by. But he had never done this with support. Maybe it would be different this time. Maybe it would stick. 

He frowned at the slight tremor in his hand as he lifted his mug to his mouth. After downing the coffee he searched through his meager clothing pile, digging out a clean button down and a pair of black jeans. A quick shower, and he was ready. He texted Peter, letting him know he was on his way and he would call when he was finished.

The Clinic was not far, set on a quiet street off the main thoroughfare. It looked fancier than the ones he had normally gone to, but that was no surprise if Peter was recommending this particular doctor.

Stepping inside he was greeted by a smiling young man. “Good morning, I’m Boyd, Dr Deaton’s nurse assistant. I'm holding the fort while Erica’s grabbing coffee.” Boyd held a clipboard. “First time visit?”

“Yeah, Peter Hale booked me in.” Chris looked around at the office, noting the bright cheery decor and the basket of children's toys off to one side.

“Oh cool, Mr Hale is a big supporter of our clinic.” Boyd handed over the clipboard and pen. “Just your details and relevant medical info, the usual drill.”

“Mr Hale supports the clinic?” Chris moved to one of the chairs.

“Yeah, not for profits like us need the donations. We help out shifters and humans alike and don’t charge, that makes it hard when trying to keep this place afloat.” Boyd gave a shrug.

Chris gave a nod and started to write down his details. He hadn't gotten far when a voice called his name. “Christopher Argent?” 

Dr Deaton stood smiling in front of him and Chris rose from his seat, extending a hand. “Dr Deaton.” 

Deaton shook his hand then clapped him on the shoulder “Come through. Peter gave me a few details. Not too many,'' Deaton added at the concerned look Chris gave him.”Peter only gave me a brief rundown, said you would be working closely with him and that I was to run the whole range of tests on you.” Chris saw Deaton smile fondly. 

“I take it this is not a strange request for Mr Hale, then?”

Deaton led them through into a brightly lit consulting room. “Not at all. Peter often sends potential employees in, and sometimes new members of the club he helps run.” 

Chris wondered idly if that was the fetish club that he saw mentioned in the information Peter gave him. He supposed it made sense—everything he was learning about the lifestyle would indicate wanting participants healthy and free of STDs.

“So, let's get started.” Deaton pointed to the exam table, and Chris let out a sigh.

* * *

  
  
  
  
  


Chris was buttoning his shirt when Deaton walked back in. “Those scars on your torso and back. I take it they came from hunting?”

“Yeah, a long time ago. They only bother me in the cold. The skin gets tight around the scar tissue.” 

Deaton nodded. “Come over and join me at my desk when you’ve finished dressing.”

Chris rolled down the sleeves of his shirt, careful of the cotton swab that was stuck to his skin. They had drawn more vials of blood than Chris thought was necessary, but he hadn’t argued. He sat down in the chair across from Deaton and waited. While the doctor was busy looking at notes on his computer, Chris fiddled absently with the shipping rope bracelet around his wrist, an old habit that he often found himself doing when he itched for a drink.

“So preliminary tests look good. You might want to watch your knees, they’re showing a little wear and tear, but at our age it comes with the territory. Swimming and gentle exercise should help keep them flexible. Heart and bp are good, although your bmi is a little on the low side.” Chris shrugged—he had never been a big eater—it seemed more like a chore than something enjoyable. 

Deaton cleared his throat and turned to face Chris.”I'm not going to lie to you, Mr Argent. I know who you are, and I also know you did a lot of good for the community, even when you were still an active hunter. Being the son of Gerard couldn’t have been a walk in the park, and some of those scars you wear tell me that clearer than words.” Chris tilted his head, unsure where Deaton was going with this. Deaton leaned forward, hands clasped in front of him. “What I'm trying to say—and badly—is that after the sort of life you’ve led, what you’ve been through, it's not uncommon for people to seek some sort of relief through drugs or alcohol.”

Chris let out a slow breath and shook his head ruefully. “What gave me away. Doc?”

Deaton gave a small, sad smile.“Tremors in the hands, licking your top lip quite a bit since you came in, and I would hazard to guess that you have the beginnings of a killer headache.”

Chris rubbed the back of his neck and gave Doc an abashed look. “I haven’t had a drink in twelve hours. I kind of have a deal with Peter.”

Deaton ran a hand under his chin, looking at Chris thoughtfully.,”I'm going to give you a list of symptoms to keep an eye out for, plus a prescription for an over the counter painkiller to help with the headaches and body aches. You’re going to feel like shit for a while I'm afraid, but you’re making a good decision” 

Chris chuckled softly. “Peter sent me some info this morning, and I’ve tried this before. I’ve got to be honest, the last time I tried it didn't end well.”

Deaton sat back in his chair. “I suspect you didn't have a whole lot of support around you, or the right safeguards in place. This time though, you have Peter in your corner, and my office will offer you any support we can.”

Chris shifted in his seat. “I’m not comfortable with the idea of AA or, y’know, group therapy. Even with the anonymity there’s always a risk someone knows me or my family.” _And anything I share could get back to Gerard or Kate_ was left unsaid.

Deaton nodded slowly. “I understand that. From what I gather you will be moving into Peter's house at the end of the week if all goes to plan, correct?” 

Nodding in agreement, Chris realised that he had already decided to sign the contract, even with nearly a week left to think about it. Deaton gave a wry smirk. “Peter won’t let you stray off the path. He is a man of singular vision, and when he sees promise or potential in someone, he is rarely wrong. He must see in you the willingness to overcome this struggle. Believe me, he wouldn’t waste his time with you if he didn’t.” Deaton smiled. “I don’t mean for that to sound rude, but with your families’ past history with his and your problems...” Deaton lifted his hands in a shrugging gesture. 

“I get it, Doc. I’m still not sure how or why Peter asked me to do any of this.”

Deaton stood and gave a laugh. “As I said, Peter Hale is a man unto his own, and most of us have learned to go with it—although I might add, he's seldom wrong.”

Chris stood and followed Deaton through to the front office. Boyd was still at the desk, flashing him a broad smile as he walked out. “All good? I’ve got a bag of goodies here and a card with your follow up appointment.” Boyd handed him a bag which, on inspection, contained multivitamins and a prescription for the headache meds. Deaton gave Chris’s hand a shake, then called the next patient in. 

  
“So the Doc will probably want you back in a day or two, once your results come through.”

“No problem, so that's all I need to do?” 

“Yep, you're all ready to go.”

“Thanks, have a good one.” Chris headed out of the clinic and slipped his sunglasses on, the day’s sun already making his head ache. As he was unlocking the car, his phone let out a beep. It was a message from Peter.

“Be at this address at 3pm. Wear comfortable clothes.” Chris typed the address into his GPS and found the directions were to a small yoga and health studio not far from his apartment.

Sighing, Chris texted back. “Yoga..really?” and was not surprised when Peter rang him. 

“Flexibility training, healthy exercise,” Peter answered flippantly. Chris stared out the front windscreen, not sure how to answer. In the end he let out an amused huff and leaned back in his seat. “The physical activity will be good for you. Besides, I like my boys to have some flexibility.” 

Chris agreed in theory with the first part—some sort of physical activity would definitely help— but the second part made him blush, even though he was alone in the car. It also conjured up some interesting images. Grinning to himself, Chris laughed, “Why Mr Hale, I'll have you know I'm quite flexible already. But I’ll go. Who do I ask for when I get there?”

“An associate of mine, Braeden. I believe you know her. She mentioned in passing she had worked with you when you were still freelancing.” Chris grunted in surprise. The last he’d heard, Braeden had been in Mexico, helping a local pack flush out a Wendigo Sleuth that had been causing trouble. He could hear the sound of keys tapping over the phone.

“Are you working?” 

“Just a few preliminary notes for a new project, nothing that can’t wait. I wanted to touch base and see how your appointment with Deaton went.”

“It was good. I mean he poked and prodded me and took enough blood that I started to wonder if he was a front for a vampire clutch.” Chris grinned at the chuckle from Peter. It was a nice sound. He'd never thought much about the way people sounded, but Peter's voice and his laugh, Chris decided, were something he could really grow to like the sound of.

“So are you going to go to the yoga studio?” Peter asked. His tone wasn’t demanding, not exactly, but Chris got the sense that Peter wanted him to do this, and if Chris had learned anything in the last few days, it was what Peter wanted, he got. 

“You think it will help? Take my mind off not drinking?”  
  
Peter made a thoughtful sound. “I don't think that it will hurt, physical activity is always a good thing. And I think the meditation practices they encourage in yoga will help. Although I can’t abide these new age types, and no, I don’t expect you to find nirvana whilst in downward facing dog. Well, not in the way they do it.” Chris swore he could hear the leer in Peters voice, and fought back a laugh.

“Okay. I’ll give it a try.” Chris watched the traffic through his windscreen as he pondered the strange but admittedly interesting turn his life had taken in the last few days.

“Good boy.” 

Chris shivered at the praise, but the little devil on his shoulder had to speak up. “Boy? last time I checked, I was actually older than you.”

“It's about headspace, Christopher, and the dynamic we’re going to build together. When you sign the contract, you’ll be handing over all responsibility and control to me. You will, in every sense, be my boy, and our ages aren’t relevant.” Peter's explanation made sense, Chris supposed, but it still rankled a little bit. But he said nothing—they hadn’t even signed the contract yet, and Chris would rather not start off on the wrong foot. “Speaking of taking control, I may have overstepped, I'm afraid. I went and put in a grocery order for you with a market I'm rather fond of, they should deliver it for you this afternoon.” Peter didn’t sound the least bit contrite.

“I get the feeling you're not sorry at all.” Chris had to admit, not having to trudge his way through the grocery store was a blessing, and he told Peter as much. “I wasn’t sure after the yoga I was going to be up to much, my head is already starting to ache.”

“Hmm. Don’t over tax yourself with Braeden. Let her know about the headache. I'm sure she will take it easy on you. And I want you to remember to drink water, Christopher.” Peter answered.

“Yes, Sir.” The honorific slipped easily from his tongue.

“Very good. I’ll let you go—and please don't be late for Braeden.” Peter's voice was warm.

“I won't. I’m going to go home and change first, Then to the studio. Um,” Chris hesitated but then asked “Do you want me to call you when I get home from being bendy?” 

“That would be best. I want you to get into the habit of calling me for instruction, and to touch base when we’re not together.” Peter again sounded pleased.

“Okay. I’ll leave you to do your work.” 

“Enjoy your yoga, Christopher. While I work I’ll let my imagination run wild with images of you learning to bend in all sorts of interesting ways.” 

Rubbing his temple, Chris grinned at his phone. This was a business transaction between them, a contract ending in twelve months, so why was this starting to feel like it could be more? Sighing, he started his jeep and headed home.

* * *

  
  
  


“So how's your soon to be boy?” Deucalion lounged in the one of the deep wingbacks that were positioned about Peter's study, a tumbler of cognac nestled in one hand.

Peter grabbed his glass and sat in the chair opposite Deucalion. “He’s not my boy, not yet. But he will be.” He smirked around the rim of his glass

“Hmm. And I take it you still plan to eventually rub Chis’s submission in his families’ faces?” the faint tone of disapproval in Deuc’s voice rankled. Deucalion should understand why Peter needed this. Yes, it was underhanded. Yes it was possibly cruel. But he was also helping Chris. It wasn’t like he was going to leave the man broken and destitute by the side of the road once he’d had his fun with him. 

No, even the short time he’d spent with Chris had already made an impact on Peter— not enough to sway his plans, but maybe they could be molded a little. But at the end of the day, Gerard and Kate would definitely know that it was Peter who controlled Chris, and hopefully the little Argent matriarch in the making, Allison.

“I haven’t lied in the contracts at all. In fact, I was bluntly honest with him. He’s more than aware of our families’ past animosities.” Peter really didn’t feel like going over this again with Deucalion.

“I understand Peter, but I think you have underestimated the connection that you will both make. You are already feeling those impulses to protect and correct this man, and if your previous conversations with him are to be believed, he is willingly letting you take a modicum of control already,” Deucalion said knowingly.

“What is your problem with this? You have never taken issue with my choice in submissives before.”

“My problem, Peter, is your rationale, and this need to parade the man around once your objective is achieved. You know Christopher has been a champion for our cause and a thorn in his father’s side for years. What you're planning will literally paint a target on his back. Gerard won’t be able to stop himself from taking action.” 

“And how is that a problem?” Peter's voice rose markedly. 

Deucalion rose and grabbed his cane. “The problem _is,_ your boy will be the one who ends up either dead or broken. I of all people understand your need for revenge. Gerard and Kate deserve the righteous fury of hell visited upon them. But what you’re doing? Not only are you dangling his hopes of a better future in front of him, you’re willing to use his newly discovered submissive tendencies to break him.” 

Peter rose and walked over to his old mentor. Taking a deep calming breath, he spoke. “I know, and he will enjoy every minute of it. I know you don’t believe me, but I'm not going to throw him aside or let his father’s henchmen get to him. But I do need him. He is the key.” As he said it, Peter realised that it was true. He had no plans to let Chris go once he had achieved his goals. He wasn’t sure how to process that; it was something to mull over at a later date.

“I still want to meet. I want to see for myself that he is walking into this with his eyes open.” Deucalion gave a wry smile. “No, I won’t tell him of the Machiavellian revenge plot you’ve concocted, But I do want to see that his submission is his own, and not something you’ve convinced him of.” 

Peter could see the merit in Chris meeting Deuc, and he did actually trust the other Alpha to keep his mouth shut. He sighed. “Fine. I agree that it would do him good to speak to someone else, someone experienced in the community. But I'm trusting you, Deuc.” 

Peter walked Deucalion, out his driver already waiting for him as they stepped out of the door. Deuc gripped Peter’s arm before he got into the car. “I love you like family Peter, and I won't interfere, but you know as a Dom and an Alpha that I have to know that no harm will come to Chris.” 

“I understand, and I would expect nothing less from you.” Embracing the other Alpha, Peter then stepped back and watched as the car pulled out of the yard. 

Pouring a fresh drink, Peter slipped into his chair. Thank fuck that was over with. He knew that Deuc was doing what he thought was best, but he needed to trust Peter, especially if the news that had come to him was to be believed. It was only because of a few well-placed individuals that Peter had been privy to the backstage negotiations and deals that had been in place, and he was going to have to ensure Chris was safely ensconced in his house before he got wind of the information. 

Gerard and Kate were going to walk free in the space of a few months. Money and blackmail had secured the iminent overturning of their conviction. Peter had smashed three Lalique vases when he had heard the news yesterday from a source in the Justice department. How they had managed to pull this off still amazed him, but it made his plans even more important. Deucalion was not wrong when he said he was using Chris, and the mild twinge of guilt he felt at that was nothing compared to the pleasure he would feel finally dealing with the Argents in his own way. But he needed to speed things up. He needed Chris in his house and bed, and soon.

Mulling over his dark thoughts, Peter glanced at his phone. A new message from Braeden. There were three photos of Chris in various poses, the surly look in the first replaced with one of pride as he succeeded in a pose by the third. Peter purred at the vision of Chris bent over and perspiring, and felt a tug of pride himself for the man. Each task Peter had set him he had accepted so far. It would be fun to see how far he could push Chris, what would finally break him, and then he would put all those pieces back together in the manner of his choosing.

Oh, when he was finished with Christopher, he was never going to let him go willingly. He would be perfect— his perfect boy, and his perfect little hunter. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


Chris hated to admit it, but Peter was onto something with the yoga. His head, while not pain-free, felt clearer, his limbs somehow more fluid. Braeden had cajoled and challenged him, and Chris found he liked the young hunter. He found her easy to talk to but bossier than hell. He could see why Peter had recommended her. She seemed to share the same drive for perfection Hale had, and while Chris wanted to find it annoying, he kind of enjoyed it. Getting any praise from either of those two would be hard earned, but worth it.

Chris came home to bags full of groceries and two styrofoam boxes full of fish, fresh fruit, and vegetables, and stuck in one of the paper bags were several printed out recipe cards. Chris sighed. The bags had the name of a very upscale market on it, and he could only imagine the cost of this lot of groceries. Peeking in one of the coolers, he spied a package containing fileted salmon steaks. Even with his head pounding, the fish made him salivate. Hefting the boxes inside, he got busy putting the food away. By the time he had finished, his headache had ramped up and the nausea had made its inevitable appearance. 

Stripping off, he threw himself under the shower, trying to ease the aches and pains that were not just from the day. His body was demanding a drink. During the day, the constant running around and activity had helped keep the worst of the cravings at bay, but now—home, alone—the dark voices started to get louder.

Head bowed under the spray of the shower, he recited his mantra, _For Allie,_ over and over, until the water ran cold. Dragging himself out of the shower, the high he had felt all day had evaporated, and in its place was a cold ache. Most of it he could fobbed off as alcohol withdrawal, but part of the ache was an old, familiar emptiness. 

Chris was _lonely_.

So many of his nights were spent alone. Nights at the bar provided some small measure of company, but most nights ended with him drinking till he staggered home and passed out. 

Dragging on a pair of old sweats, he made his way back into his small sitting room, making a detour to grab a large bottle of water from the fridge and the painkillers he had gotten from Deaton. Taking a long swig, he swallowed two pills and lay down on the threadbare sofa. He closed his eyes. He'd rest, just for a minute, then try and make some food, although even the idea was exhausting.

He shifted around trying to get comfortable, but no amount of pummeling the pillow would mold it to the shape he wanted. He rolled onto his side, the ache behind his eyes getting worse. Squeezing his eyes closed, he started to take slow deep breaths, trying to find his ‘calm center’—whatever the fuck that meant. He was so focused on his head not exploding that he didn't hear the first soft raps at his door. The louder, more constant knocking finally got his attention. Struggling to sit up, he yelled, “Door’s open. If you're gonna rob the place just be quiet about it.” He slumped back onto the sofa feeling spent. 

The door pushed open and Peter’s perfectly coiffed head appeared around it. “Oh my boy, you _are_ in a state.” 

Chris made an inarticulate moan-whine, “Head hurts. Not a good time, Peter.” 

Peter came in, closing the door behind him. In a few long strides he was alongside the sofa, where he knelt. Chris was ashamed to admit he whimpered a little when Peter pressed a hand to his head. Peter’s brows creased in worry. Maybe it was the headache or just feeling like crap, but he pushed his head against Peter’s palm, sighing.

“Not sure if this is withdrawal or something else. Boy, do you get migraines?” Peters voice had lost its usual clipped tone.

“I used to, they were triggered by stress.'' He pressed his head more insistently against Peter's hand, not caring how needy it looked, it felt too good. Peter made a strange purr-rumble sound, something which Chris had heard about but not heard himself. Werewolf purrs were something often joked about, but seldom heard. 

“I'm going to make you something light to eat, and then to bed with you.” Peter’s voice was a soft, commanding rumble. Chris felt a bit guilty—a guest in his home, and here he was, sprawled out and next to useless. Pushing himself upright, he fought the urge to puke. Upright may not have been the best course of action. The room swam for a moment or two, and then Peter's hand was against his chest, pushing him firmly back down into the sofa. “Stay there. I have the food ready to go. Where do you keep the silverware in this place?” 

“Drawer under the microwave, should be some spoons and whatnot.” Chris stayed where he was as instructed, trying to focus on Peter moving about his small home. He let himself sink back into the sofa and just watched. His head was still pounding, but watching Peter’s swift and economic movements was strangely settling.

He must have drifted off for a minute. A soft touch to his shoulder made him open his eyes to see two large bowls filled with something that smelled good, even if his head and stomach still weren't sure of the idea.

“It’s pho, light yet filling, and the coriander and lemongrass are soothing for your stomach.” Peter handed him a bowl and Chris took it. Balancing it on his knee, he took a shaky spoonful. More ended up on him than in his mouth, but the light rich broth was wonderful and the paper thin beef took barely any effort to chew. Peter gave him a small smile. “Here, allow me. You are going to wear more than you eat at this rate, and that’s not the plan.” Peter took the spoon from Chris' hand and ladled it full before bringing the spoon up to Chris's lips. He didn’t have time to analyze what was happening, just opened his mouth. Peter kept spooning mouthfuls of the tasty soup into Chris's mouth. He couldn’t have protested, even if he wanted to. 

With Peter’s warm weight alongside him and a belly full of food, he almost felt human again, apart from the fact his head was still trying to kill him. “You look about ready to drop, Christopher.” Peter handed him a bottle of water and two more pills. “Take these, then let's get you to bed.”

If his head didn't hurt so much he would have laughed at the suggestive eyebrow wiggle Peter gave. Instead, he opted to just roll his eyes— and even that hurt. He slumped against the couch. “You hand fed me like a baby, Peter.”

Peter came to stand in front of Chris, extending a hand out. “Yes I did, and I think once you're feeling healthier, it's something for us to add to your rewards list.” Chris was too tired to put up much of an argument, and let Peter pull him up onto his feet. “Come on, Christopher.” Peter kept hold of Chris’s hand, leading him through to his cramped bedroom. Chris blushed—his clothes were strewn about, his laundry basket was overflowing, and he wasn’t even sure of the last time he’d changed his linen. 

Peter in his crisp, smart suit looked so out of place in this room. He smelt of some extravagantly expensive aftershave while standing in a room that smelt— Chris took a sniff— yep, like yesterday's old socks. “I'm sorry about the mess. I’ll be ok from here.” Chris winced as another sharp pain lanced through his head.

Peter gave him a flat look, lips pursed in what Chris was learning was his disapproving face. “I think not. those pain pills Deaton gave you are obviously not working, and I’m hesitant to get him to prescribe you something stronger.”

Chris weakly nodded his agreement. With his history, he would rather keep away from prescription painkillers, It just was one more thing he didn’t need to worry about. He couldn’t help but lean into Peter's warmth when another wave of pain and nausea swept through him.

“Okay boy, bed for you now.” Peter took the lead, guiding Chris to the bed, giving its rumpled sheets and bed coverings a faint scowl. “Christopher, dare I ask if you have fresh linen?” 

Chris sighed. “In the hallway closet, but I don't need it Peter, you can go, I'll be fine really.” 

Peter grabbed Chris’s chin firmly between his thumb and forefinger. “No, you’ll sleep better in a freshly made bed.” He guided Chris to the old chair that sat in the corner of the room with a firm. _“Stay.”_ Peter walked out into the halfway and within minutes he was back. Chris watched with bemused detachment as Peter stripped his bed down with military precision. “Talia was a tyrant growing up. We had to share a room for many years and she was a neat freak, and I'm afraid it rubbed off on me.” Peter had stripped out of his jacket and had his shirt sleeves rolled up, baring muscled forearms. Even with the headache from hell, Chris could still appreciate the strength in those fluidly muscled forearms— _more than strong enough to pin me to the bed_ \-- skittered through his head, an errant thought, gone when a starburst behind his eyes brought another wave of agony.

Chris was too caught up in the next wave of pain to notice Peter lifting him to his feet and guiding him to the edge of the bed, too far gone to even react as Peter pulled his sweats down, removed his socks, and carefully lowered him into the freshly made bed. When Chris was situated to Peter's approval, he moved around the bed and sat down alongside him. Chris wiggled till his back was against Peter. “Would you like me to draw your pain, boy?”

Chris had his face pressed into the cool cover of the pillow, so it muffled his quiet “ _Yes_.” 

“Was that a yes, Christopher?”

Chris let out a soft groan as he rolled over. “You’d do that?” Chris knew about werewolves' ability to drain pain, but had never expected one to willingly use it to help him, 

“I would gladly do it Christopher. You’re in pain, and I would see you comfortable.”

Chris rolled further onto his back, turning his head so he was looking up at Peter. “Please Sir.” 

Peter reached forward and brushed a strand of Chris’s hair aside. “How can I refuse, when you ask so politely?” Peter ran his fingers through Chris’s hair, and the pain that had been building seemed to flow away as Peter's fingers brushed against his skin.

Mumbling half to himself, Chris sighed out,“You’re a good man, Peter.”

Peter sighed, sounding almost sad. “No boy, I'm not.”

Chris didn't have the energy to call Peter out, but all the man had done in the last few days had proved to Chris that Peter, for all his majestic assholery, was a good person. It was just that right now he was too blissed out on werewolf pain drain mojo to verbalise that Peter was full of shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THank you for reading my Stuffs™


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris makes a choice. Peter holds him to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK this is possibly the fastest chapter I have written but also one I am stupidly proud of ...thank you @bunnywest you enable the hell out of me and give me the confidence to do this

Chris pushed his face into the pillows—another five minutes and then he would get up. Rubbing his cheek against the soft pillowcase, the thought dawned on him. His head didn’t hurt. The normal day-after-migraine nausea wasn’t there. Then he remembered. Peter.

_ Oh, Jesus. _

Peter had turned up, fed him, and then put him to bed. Chris pressed his head further into the pillow. Oh dear god, he’d turned to a sloppy pile of goo when Peter had used the Werewolf mojo on him. Chris muffled an annoyed groan with his pillow. What was Peter going to think of him? The big brave hunter, reduced to a stupid, needy mess by a headache.

Peter's voice floated out from the living room. “You know, I can hear you thinking from out here.” Chris groaned again with feeling into his pillow. Damn it, Peter was still here. He was grateful for what Peter had done, and Chris had to admit having Peter drawing his pain and reading softly to him had made him feel all sorts of emotions he really was not ready to address, at least not until he’s had his first— possibly second—coffee.

Slipping out of bed, he headed straight to his small cramped bathroom. Brushing his teeth and glaring at his reflection, he was faintly surprised that for how bad his head had been yesterday, he didn’t look too bad, just slightly dark around the eyes and a little paler than normal.

Peter lowered the paper he was reading as Chris walked into the room, fixing Chris with an amused smile. “I was starting to believe you had fallen back to sleep.”

Chris gave a shrug as he poured himself a mug of coffee. Peter held out his empty mug without saying a word. Chris fought the urge to roll his eyes, instead filling Peter’s mug and then returning the pot to the stand.

“I believe there was some fresh bacon and a tray of eggs in the delivery that came yesterday.” Peter had resumed reading, stopping occasionally to sip from his cup.

Chris stood for a minute, wondering exactly what was happening in his life, before Peters annoyed huff made him move. “Bacon and scrambled eggs it is.”

Another annoyed huff from behind the paper. Chris stared blankly at the newspaper in front of Peter's face before the penny dropped. Oh shit, right. “Would you like Bacon and scrambled eggs for breakfast,  _ Sir? _ ” 

Chris saw the paper move and Peter’s hand holding a pen, ticking off something on a pad of paper. Chris wanted to ask what Peter was doing, but had a strong feeling he would just get another serve of Peter’s resting wolf face, so instead he set about making them breakfast.

The eggs were fluffy and the bacon close enough to perfect that Chris smiled in pride as he placed the plate down in front of Peter. With a cocky little smile, he announced the meal. “Your morning repast, Sir.” 

Peter lowered and folded his paper, then again jotted something down on the small lined pad he had on the table. Curiosity warred with recalcitrance. Chris sat down across from Peter and waited for Peter to take his first bite, then at Peter's nod Chris took up his own fork. Again, Peter jotted something down.

Finally, curiosity got the better of him. "What are you writing? seems each time I say or do something you pull that face," Chris gave an imitation of Peter's stern face, "and then jot something down on the note pad." 

Peter took another mouthful of bacon and eggs before he spoke. “Notes, Christopher. Ideas, reactions. You are a very singular man, and your lifelong training and habit of deferring to others in charge has made you almost perfect, but you still have that spark of defiance about you.”

Chris waved his fork at the food. “This was you, seeing if I would do as I'm told?”

Peter gave a slight shrug. “That ,and I needed to make sure you knew how to cook, given the previous state of your cupboards and freezer I was left to wonder.”

“I can cook, and the state of my cupboards was  _ not  _ that bad,” Chris snapped back indignantly.

“With the amount of pot ramen contained in them, I was wondering if you had a college student hidden somewhere around here.” Peter made another tick on his paper, and Chris tried to ignore it and focus on the food in front of him.

“I like pot ramen, when you're on the road, on a hunt, stopping for fine cuisine isn’t always an option. Ramen is easy and filling,” Chris answered. 

“ I see. Just don’t expect to find any in my kitchen.” The lip-twist of distaste Peter gave was almost comical. 

“Fine, no pot ramen. What other rules have you worked out I need?” Chris shoved a forkful of egg and bacon into his mouth, chewing happily and not missing the flash of annoyance that passed across Peter's face.

Peter placed his fork down across his plate, and the look he gave Chris was calculating. “Manners, basic etiquette, deportment, grooming, and cooking lessons. You are sadly lacking in all of these, or you have just chosen to forget past lessons. We’ll have to remedy that. There will also be slave and submission training. And before we go any further, I would like to establish one of the rules today.” 

“ _ Today? _ What happened to waiting till Friday, making sure I was going to be a good fit?” Chris could see Peter was challenging him. Was he ready to forgo the week and start on this path already? The simple answer was  _ yes _ . An intrinsic part of his psyche had always craved someone to take control, and here Peter was, offering exactly that. Chris tried not to think too hard about the other aspects—he was still unsure of the sexual submission or the pain to be honest—but the way his body had unconsciously responded to Peter so far gave him hope that it might not be as bad as he feared. 

“Yes, today. I know it wasn’t our plan, but seeing the state you were in yesterday, and your willingness to cede to some of my requests, I don’t think there’s any harm in moving a little faster.” Peter's eyes were assessing him as he spoke, probably expecting Chris to renege on the deal. 

Instead, Chris shrugged. “I don’t have a problem with that. Would you expect me to move in sooner than agreed?”

Peter tapped an elegant finger on the table, “Would that be an issue for you, Christopher?”

Chris gave another shrug as he looked around the small apartment. It wasn’t like he was attached to the place, and diving into this with Peter would be a bit like ripping a bandaid off, getting right into it before the worry and fear set in. Chris licked his lips out of habit. He did have one question, though. “Would the more...uh...intimate stuff also happen sooner?” Chris couldn’t quite say whether he dreaded the thought or was excited at the idea. All his emotions on the issue had coalesced into some amorphous blob of tangled-up feelings that he wasn’t quite sure how to process.

Peter leaned forward, a hint of canine peeking through his lips. “I’m not going to demand you drop to you knees and suck my cock straight away if that’s what you’re worried about, _ boy _ .” Chris wanted to growl back at being called a boy, but the glint in Peter's blue eyes told him that wouldn’t be the smartest path to follow, so he held himself back. Peter tilted his head and smiled, as if he’d heard Chris’s thoughts before continuing, “Well, not for the next half an hour, at least. And training you in all the ways you can pleasure me will have its own rewards, believe me Christopher.” 

Chris swallowed audibly. “I'm not sure if that was supposed to make me feel better or freak me out more, but okay Mr Hale, we can start today.” 

Peter sat back in his chair and looked pointedly towards his and Chris’s empty plates. Letting out a soft sigh, Chris stood and took the plates to the sink, running the tap till the sink filled with warm water. As he washed the breakfast plates and pans he could hear Peter writing, the ever-so-faint sound of his fountain pen scritching against the paper. He snorted—of  _ course _ Peter Hale would use a fountain pen. “Would you like to discuss some of the rules as you wash the dishes?” Peter asked.

Chris paused mid-scrub of the frying pan. Shit they hadn’t even discussed the rules in-depth. Maybe he shouldn’t have leapt in with both feet before looking. “I suppose we’d better, now I’ve already gone in blind.” 

So absorbed was he in scrubbing the egg off the plate that he didn’t even hear Peter move. Chris let out an involuntary shiver when he felt Peter's body behind him and the ghost of Peter’s breath against his neck, “No need to be afraid, little hunter. You read the rules I included in your paperwork, yes?” Chris nodded, trying to remember them, but Peter’s body heat behind him was making thinking hard. “Words, Christopher.” Peter nipped Chris ‘s ear. “I need to hear the words.”

Peter's arms were now either side of him, his hands resting on the sink top bracketing Chris against the sink. With Peter's body holding him in place, Chris felt surrounded, trapped, yet he didn’t attempt to get out of it. He rationalised that if he really needed to he could possibly overpower Peter enough to move—but did he want to?

Peter leaned in, his proximity now so close that Chris could feel the buckle of Peter’s belt through the thin fabric of his sweats. 

“You shall recite them for me, Christopher. Each rule forgotten earns a punishment, each one remembered, a reward.” One of Peter’s hands had moved, and now rested on the flat of Chris’s belly, moving slowly in soft, soothing motions. “What is your safeword, boy?”

“ _ Faust _ , it's faust,” Chris hissed as he felt clawed fingers stroke across his stomach. 

“Good boy.” Chris shivered at the soft press of lips to his neck. “You may proceed, Christopher. The first six rules of a slave are?”

“  _ I will serve, obey and please my Master. _ ” Chris repeated the first rule, and shivered as Peter slowly lifted Chris’s t-shirt up, one clawed hand still flat against his belly while the other raised the shirt till it was bunched under Chris’s arms. 

He let out a sharp gasp when his nipple was pinched hard between two clawed fingers. “I didn’t say stop washing the dishes, did I?”

“Sorry,” Chris mumbled, then yelped when the nipple was pinched harder, “Sorry,  _ Sir.” _

“Better, boy. Second rule?” The hand on his belly had resumed its soothing motions, fingers toying with the elastic at the waist of his pants. 

Chris took a deep breath. “ _ Above all else, my primary focus shall be to please my Master. _ ” The hand slid lower, fingers just dipping under the fabric of his sweatpants, another hard pinch to the nipple. 

“Dishes, Christopher. Next rule?” 

Chris resumed the washing the dishes while Peter's hand continued to caress and torture him. ” _ I worship my Master’s body, mind and soul, and all His being. _ ” 

Peter nipped at Chris’s neck, “Oh yes, boy. I shall enjoy teaching you what pleases me.” The hand playing with the band of his sweats had now reached lower, a finger just brushing against where his cock was sitting, unexpectedly interested in the proceedings. Chris let out a yelp as the claws around his nipple pinched harder, the sharp, hot, pain making his cock go from interested to  _ very _ interested. “I think nipple torture will be on our list.Yes, boy?” Chris shook his head—it really hurt—but his body, that fucking two-faced asshole, happend to agree with Peter. The next pinch had him yelping louder. It wasn't his poor abused nipple this time, but the soft, unprotected head of his cock. Peter’s body held firm, iron-hard muscles pinning Chris against the sink. “Continue, boy.”

Chris gritted his teeth and drew a deep breath. “ _ To receive pleasure, I must earn it. _ ” 

Peter’s lips formed a smile against his neck. “This will be one of your first lessons, boy, and I’m going to enjoy every minute of it.” 

The fingers resumed their soft stroking, and Chris tried to focus. Washing a plate, he recited the fifth rule. “ _ I trust my Master: His responsibilities, His skills, His hunger and needs, and His concern for my safety, my emotional, psychological, social, sexual, and physical health.”  _

Peter pressed against Chris, and he could feel the strong line of Peter’s cock between the layers of clothing they both wore. “Do you trust me, boy?” Peter’s voice was a harsh whisper against his neck.

Chris nodded. He must be mad, but yes, he did trust Peter. He had no way to understand why or how, but he did. Even this first experience, however tame, was mind-melting. He wondered how he would cope with the other torture Peter had planned. 

“I think there are two more rules, then you may thank me,” Peter said, his hand now stroking and cupping Chris through his underwear. He bucked into the touch and received a sharp pinch in return. “Rules, boy.” 

“ _ I am an instrument of great value that Master will use to draw out His pleasures,” _ Chris gasped out as Peter began firmly stroking him.

“Don’t come without permission, boy. I will be disappointed if you do.” 

Chris bit his lip and focused on the pan in front of him, trying not to rock into Peter's hand.  _ “I will ask my Master for permission to satisfy whatever I need before acting on it _ .” Peter's hand kept its slow drag over his groin, and Chris let out a soft whimper as Peter's mouth hovered over his neck. “ _ My heart, body and mind belong to my Master.”  _

Peter’s lips curved in a smile against the skin of Chris’s neck. “Good boy.” Peter's hand pushed Chris’s underwear aside, and Chris nearly cried at the feel of that strong calloused palm around his cock. Peter bit down hard on Chris’s neck as his hand jerked Chris off roughly, and just as he was ready to beg, Peter whispered,  _ “Come. _ ” Chris came with embarrassing speed, going boneless against Peter. 

“I hoped you enjoyed that, boy. It will be the last orgasm for you for a while.” Peter's tone was downright pleased, and Chris had to bite back a childish ‘ _ you're not the boss of me,’ _ because as of today, Peter was.

Chris shakily reached in and drained the sink, still a little wobbly from the unexpected morning’s activities. As he reached for the dish towel, Peter cleared his throat, “On your knees, boy.” There was no playfulness in Peter's tone, just the heady sound of dominance, and Chris found his body reacting to it as if by instinct. He dropped to his knees with more enthusiasm than grace, but once face to face with Peter's crotch Chris had no idea what was expected of him. He didn’t know what to do if Peter wanted him to blow him, this wasn’t something covered in hunter training. Chris sniggered to himself—if it had been, he was sure a fair few fights between wolves and hunters could have been averted. Peter’s pointed throat-clearing made it clear that Chris had been woolgathering, and he looked up with what he hoped passed as a contrite expression.

“That wide-eyed, innocent look won't work on me, boy. Do you want to please me?” 

Peter’s eyes were on him and Chris nodded, feeling the need to do something, anything that would thank Peter for what he had already done, “I-ugh-I don’t know what to do.” 

Peter reached down, gripping Chris by the hair—the pull not enough to be painful, but just riding the edge of too much. “You don’t need to do anything but take what I give you. We can work on the finer points later.” With his other hand, Peter unzipped his pants and drew his cock out, a pearlescent bead of pre-come already glistening on its bulbous head. Chris unconsciously licked his lips. 

He’d never been in a position to admire another man’s dick before. Peter’s cock, like the rest of him was perfect, long and thick, its skin a dusky, flushed hue. “Mouth open, boy. You can admire my dick later. Tongue out, that's it.” Peter’s hand gripped his hair harder as he guided Chris’s head towards his groin. “Tap my leg if you want to stop.” 

Peter waited until Chris answered, “‘I’ll tap your leg.” The hand tightened. “Sir! I’ll tap your leg Sir!” Chris added hastily. The hand relaxed, stroking through his hair before the grip returned and Peter guided Chris forward onto his cock. The first taste was strange, skin sweat and musk, but before he could think too much about it Peter started to thrust shallowly in and out of his mouth. Chris kept his hands to his side, letting Peter guide him. He felt both used and needed, dirty and wonderful all at the same time. The taste of Peter on his tongue, the feel of that silken member in his mouth, it was depraved and debauched. He was just a thing for Peter to use, and he needed it.

“So good for me pet, that's it. Relax your throat.” Peter purred soothingly as Chris choked when he felt the head of Peter’s dick press against the back of his throat. With his inexperience there was no way he could take all of Peter, but damn it, he was going to give it his best shot.

Drool fell from his mouth and his throat soon felt raw, but Peter didn't let up. Each time Peter sild in Chris felt his airways cut off, but he refused to tap out. It was exhilarating, like a hunt, and his own cock was starting to plump up again. He moved his hand to touch himself, and let out a grunt as he was yanked off Peter’s cock, the man glaring down at him. “Take your hand away.” Chris hesitated a moment too long, and the slap to his face was a shock, a stinging jolt. His cock grew harder, and he pulled his hands behind his back and clasped them. “Much better, boy.” Peter thrust into his mouth again. Tears had started to form, and whether they were from the punishing pace Peter set or the slap Chris didn’t know, but it felt like bliss. 

His brain seemed to slow down the more he focused on the feel of Peter, his thick length stretching his lips, the sudden sensation of choking as his cock slid deeper with each thrust, the way the intensely masculine smell of Peter filled his nostrils. All thoughts seemed to fade to background noise. 

Peter’s hand tightened in his hair and Chris could hear a deep, rumbling, growl coming from Peter as the first hot bitter shots of come hit his throat. Before Chris could even react to his first taste of come, Peter pulled his cock from between Chris's lips and painted his slack mouth and beard with his release.

The purring rumble from Peter increased as he rubbed his come into Chris’s skin. Chris wanted to complain about it being gross, but he didn’t have the energy and besides, there was something primal in Peter rubbing his come into him, almost like ownership.

Still achingly hard but knowing better than to touch himself , Chris collapsed on the floor, a debauched heap. Well, this morning sure took a turn—not that he was complaining exactly, hell no. 

As his brain finally came back on line he was aware of Peter sitting on the floor in his expensive suit, stroking Chris's hair like one would a favourite pet. “There you are, pet, you were down for a bit there. Come on, time to pack”

“What?” Chris felt like he had a mouth full of cotton balls, and his jaw and throat ached. He blushed when he thought about the reason, but felt a little proud too. God, he had sucked his first cock and enjoyed it. The grin on Peter's face told him the smug bastard already knew the train of Chris's thoughts.

“Time to move. I want you home and fitted with a cage before dinner.” Peter stood and held a hand out, yanking Chris to his feet, 

“Wait,  _ what? _ ” Peter's grin was evil, and unease flooded through Chris. “And what did you mean about it being the last orgasm for a while..Sir?” 

Peter pushed Chris gently towards the bedroom. “You’ll find out soon enough, boy. Now, pack.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading my Stuffs , 🥰💞


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things move forward for the men, and Peter has a few surprises for Chris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And a new chapter gasp ...thank you all who are following these two on this twisty kinky journey.   
> much love and appreciation to Bunnywest for wrangling my miscreant full stops and words

Chris looked at the sheets of paper laid out in front of him. Each page contained a place for his initials and his signature. As he signed each page he slid it across the desk to Peter, who in turn signed and dated the pages. 

Once they had arrived at the house Peter had hurriedly led Chris through to his office and laid out the contract papers. Chris thought he noticed an edge of nervousness to Peter, but he put that down to them beginning this new phase of their business arrangement. Saying that in his head felt strange—nothing about this felt business-like—well, that was until Peter had pulled the contracts out. Peter's face was a mask of calm, only a faint tic under his left eye giving Chris any clue to any emotion the other man was feeling. Signing the last paper, Chris shook his head. There was no way Peter was feeling as nervous as he was. The man could give statues a lesson in patience.

Chris lay the mont blanc fountain pen on the leather blotter and sat back. Once Peter reached over and signed the last few pages, his stern mask slipped to a more sultry smile. “And so we begin, Christopher.”

Only years of ingrained training kept Chris from fidgeting with nerves as Peter looked him over. Even one as emotionally inept as himself could not mistake the look of possessive hunger in Peter's eyes. The brief Alpha flash and that slow, languid smile sent flutters of combating feelings through Chris —a strange, deep sense of want, tempered with a hint of fear. He knew that he already felt trust towards the man, but that did not stop him from also knowing that Peter actively wanted to cause Chris pain, that he found pleasure in such things. 

“No need to look so pensive. I have no plans on flogging you tonight.” 

Chris snorted. “I remember a similar conversation about blow jobs, Sir.”

Chris was rewarded by a toothy grin from Peter. “Well. you were just too tempting— what can I say, a man has his limits—but it is safe to say that tonight, I think we should get to know one another a little better first, don’t you agree?” Peter’s voice held that deep timbre that resonated in Chris’s bones. His cock twitched — hell, it practically jumped at the tone of Peter's voice. It was like Pavlov's dogs, only his cock was the one drooling.

Chris allowed himself a small smile. “Yes, Sir. Would it be presumptive to ask if you could show me around your home? Best I know where everything is, right ?” 

Peter nodded slowly. “Of course. I can’t expect you to make breakfast tomorrow if you don’t know where everything is. Bring the rules list and your checklist through to the kitchen, we can start going through that while we prepare something for dinner.” 

Chris went up and followed Peter through the house, marveling how warm the polished floor boards were under his bare feet. The whole house in general felt cozy, and if Chris had any hesitation regarding the clothes or lack thereof that Peter would require him to wear, it was not out of fear of being cold.

  
  
  


Over a warm chicken salad that he had prepared under Peter's instruction, they negotiated and renegotiated Chris's daily list of chores and some of the rules that Peter wished him to follow. Handing over his life and wellbeing to Peter had been surprisingly easy so far. Any small niggles or doubts were quickly put to rest with Peter's willingness to discuss and negotiate where required. Peter had assured him tonight would be casual to a point—he still required Chris to be respectful and deferential, but he was willing to allow an adjustment period for both of them. He still asked Chris to kneel for him as they ate, and although it felt peculiar at first, Chris found the cushion soft and comfortable, and the fact Peter liked to pet his hair between feeding him bites of food was really nice.   
  


“So, about my room, Sir. You said that was my space where I could go and read, or somewhere if I needed time out, and you would not bother me there, right?” Chris took a mouthful of the chicken salad Peter fed him. It was a sweetly nurturing act if Chris was honest, and he found his mind and body responded to it. Peter's happy wolf rumbles made Chris suspect that Peter felt the same.

“Yes. Your room is your sanctuary, and I won’t impose on you while you are there— but I don't want you abusing the privilege—and it  _ is _ a privilege, Chris. You will earn your free time.” Peter tapped Chris’s lips with the fork and Chris opened. Chewing the chicken, he mulled over another thought. “Sir, am I sleeping in my room? Or— ” Chris wasn’t quite sure how to finish that sentence, not with the hungry way Peter was looking at him.

Peter sighed and laid. the fork down, “While I would prefer you in my bed each night, and to wake up with you there, I will not demand it of you—not yet, at least.” Peter took a pause and cupped Chris’s chin in his hand. “But I would  _ prefer _ it.” 

  
  


Peter didn’t say anything else but continued to feed them both, and Chris used the silence to wrap his head around things. They had moved things along at such a fast pace that he was still coming to grips with being here. 

“Safewords are in play, Sir?” Chris asked.

  
“Yes. It’s appropriate, especially with how new you are to both the scene and these types of relationship. Perhaps the stop lights would be a good go-to as well.” Peter gave him an approving smile.

Chris found himself leaning against Peter's leg, the warmth and solid contact helping his mind focus. “If I was unsure of a task, or concerned, and I use yellow, we could stop and discuss it, Sir?”

Peter hummed around a mouthful of food, nodding. Chris watched as Peter dabbed his face with a napkin and laid his fork down. “I’m not setting you up for failure, Chris. While the thought of punishing you excites and arouses me, I’m not endeavouring to make you fail deliberately. We will both make mistakes enough, I'm sure.” 

Chris chuckled and ducked his head not wanting to meet Peter's eye. “What thought caused that chuckle, pet?”

Chris sighed. Peter would get the answer out of him one way or another. “Well if I fuck up, I get a paddle or something else diabolical you have hidden in your room of torture. But if you fuck up, I don’t get to paddle your behind, do I?” 

Peter’s brow rose and his lips pursed. “Yes. That’s what makes this fun.” Peter leaned forward and pinched one of Chris’s nipples through the thin material of his tee. Chris hissed and arched at the pinch, squirming at the conflicting feelings of pleasure-pain.

Gritting his teeth through the onslaught, Chris looked up into Peter's eyes. “But who holds you accountable, Sir?”

Peter's fingers on his nipple released immediately. “That is a good question and I’m pleased that you asked it. I would hope I’m a good enough Dominant to hold myself accountable, but I also answer to my fellow Doms—and of course you, Christopher.” 

Chris nodded. Peter leaned down and brushed a soft kiss to his forehead. “I shall arrange for you to meet Deucalion each week for a one-on-one chat without me. He is my mentor and one of the finest Dominants I know. You can speak freely with him about anything and it will remain private between the two of you, unless you wish to share your conversations with me.”

That was a surprise. Chris rubbed his head against Peter’s thigh looking up into Peter's glacial blue eyes, he cleared his throat nervously. “Thank you Sir, this—this means a lot.”

Peter's hand in his hair was gentle and Chris liked the soft look that Peter wore. “You have made me very proud, Christopher, and I would like to reward you.”

Chris sat back on his heels, back straight. “I would like that, Sir.” He gave Peter what a smile. It might have come across as goofy but he hoped it was sultry, and with the heated look Peter gave him, he thought he might have pulled it off.

Peter stood up and indicated Chris should stand as well. Chris rose on unsteady legs. He was pretty certain all this kneeling and standing was going to work wonders on his thighs, but he was still fairly self-conscious of how much grace he lacked. He was actually excited to start the kneeling training Peter had mentioned. Training and learning were things that Chris could get excited about—they were familiar concepts to him.

“I want you to follow me upstairs to the master bathroom. I feel the need to wash and pamper my new boy.” Peter made the command feel like a promise, and Chris ducked his head in acknowledgment. He followed Peter dutifully up the stairs, his eyes going from watching his footfalls to admiring the back and Armani clad backside in front of him. He nearly walked into Peter’s back, so fixated was he on the flex and pull of the jacket that Peter wore. Peter had stopped at the doorway to the master bedroom and gave Chris a frown. “Are you ready for this, Christopher? Bathing, and the act of  _ being  _ bathed, is quite intimate, and can be quite emotionally intense. Do you still consent?”

Chris shrugged—how intimidating could having a bath be? Quite frankly he was rather looking forward to a long soak. But Peter kept watching him, and then it hit Chris, like a great, Hale-shaped brick. “Oh, you mean  _ you’re _ going to bathe me?” Peter nodded silently and Chris swallowed down a nervous laugh, giving a less confident shrug. “I haven’t had someone bathe me since I was a toddler. If you don't mind looking at old scars and dimples, be my guest.” Peter reached out and tugged on an already swollen nipple. Chris hissed, and quickly added on the, “Sir.” 

  
  


“Oh, you are just perfect. And I’m looking forward to seeing those dimples.” Peter stepped aside, letting Chris enter the bedroom.

Chris let out a slow whistle. A large California king bed sat in pride of place in the center of the room. Its padded headboard had anchor points for what Chris could only assume would be cuffs, and he spied velcro tie-downs at the foot of the bed. Oh boy. There was a leather bench-come-storage box at the foot of the bed. Chris's mind ran wild with images of what Peter might have in there. 

Peter’s firm back was behind him, gently shepherding him further into the room. Chris glanced at the bed again and saw a pair of emergency shears hanging from one of the bedposts. “What are they for?” he asked in a squeak that he would feel embarrassed about later— maybe.

Peter's hands came up and started to rub Chris's arms in a soothing up and down motion. “They’re for your safety, if I need to cut you out of your ropes quickly.” Chris shivered, not sure if the idea of being tied up and helpless terrified or excited him. Peter continued to guide Chris through to the large bathroom. A huge shower, in its black and silica tiled majesty, dominated one wall. Clear glass cube bricks acted as a partition, dividing it from the rest of the bathroom. On the other wall, with a large double window behind, it stood the bathtub—if tub was the right word. Chris didn’t know tubs that size could exist.

Peter tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention. “Stand here, I’ll be back in a moment.” Chris nodded, eyes going back to the tub. He could lay out flat and still have room in there. Peter returned moments later, rolling the sleeves up on his expensive-looking button down. “Now the choice is yours, Christopher. You can strip yourself, or I’ll do it for you.” Peter had started running the bath, and was adding sweet-smelling bath oils. 

The choice seemed a no brainer to Chris—he could take his own clothes off. It was odd enough that Peter was going to bathe him. “I can undress myself.” Chris grumbled and went to go into the bedroom to strip.

Peter let out a soft sigh. “No, you undress in here.” Peter turned from running the bath to glance at Chris. “Now, Christopher. Or do you want me to do it?” Chris moved further into the bathroom. Standing on the deep pile rug in front of the vanity, he started to unbutton his shirt. Peter let out an amused huff. “Look at me, pet.” Chris lifted his eyes so he was meeting Peter's intense, blue-eyed gaze. “Slowly now, let me enjoy the show.” Chris’s fingers trembled slightly as he started to undo the buttons. His gaze slipped to the ground, but Peter's voice, firm and commanding, brought his eyes back up to look at his Sir. Peter stood and walked behind Chris. “Continue, boy.” 

Chris slid the shirt from his shoulders, letting it fall to his feet. His fingers still trembled as he undid his belt, but through some small mercy he got it undone. Peter's hand slid around his waist, grabbing the belt from Chris's fingers and drawing it through the loops. “Trousers and underwear, Christopher.” Peter's breath blew warm across the back of his neck. Fighting the urge to rush, Chris slowly unzipped his pants, letting them slither to the floor. Peter hummed softly in approval. “Step forward, boy.” Chris stepped out of the pool of material at his feet. Casting a look behind himself, he saw Peter stoop down to pick the shirt and trousers up, and with a single nonchalant throw, toss the garments into the basket by the door. When he turned to face Peter, Chris let out an involuntary moan. Belt still in hand, shirt stretched tight across his heavily muscled chest, Peter was the very picture of power and dominance.

Peter smirked when he caught Chris’s eye, but said nothing. Chris turned back to face the tub, trying to get his breathing under control. Thumbs hooked into his underwear, he lowered them slowly, letting them drop to his feet. Peter's hands were on him as soon as he stepped out of the underwear.   
  


One strong hand on his hip, the other cupping his jaw, Chris was pulled against Peter, his naked flesh pressed against Peter’s clothed body. “I’m going to kiss you now, pet.” A tremor ran along Chris’s spine as Peter cupped his jaw and aligned their lips. The first taste of Peter’s mouth was smooth and sweet, Peter softly nipping at Chris’s lips to demand entrance. A sweep of tongue against his lips had Chris opening his in supplication. Peter dominated the kiss like he did everything else in life, aggressive and powerful, all consuming, Chris let his eyes slip shut, only to feel a sharp slap to his backside before Peter pulled away. “Eyes open boy, look at me.'' The red glow of Peter's eyes was both haunting and arousing. Peter kissed him again, lips commanding Chris's submission, and he gladly gave it. Peter pulled back, barely panting compared to Chris, but the hint of color on his cheeks showed he was just as affected by their kiss.

Clearing his throat, Peter took Chris's hand and led him to the tub. It was an oddly chivalrous gesture, but then, from what he was getting to see of Peter it shouldn’t have surprised him. He stepped over the rim of the tub and gasped at the feel of the warm water. “Too hot?” Peter asked as he helped Chris lower himself into the water. 

“No Sir, it just feels good.” Peter made that strange soft rumbling sound in his chest that Chris was beginning to learn was a sound of pleasure.    
  


The water came up to his chest once he was fully seated and it felt amazing. The bath oils were only lightly scented, which made sense given how sensitive werewolf noses were, but he could already feel them softening and soothing his skin. Peter sat down on the side of the tub, his shirt sleeves pushed far up leaving his heavily muscled forearms exposed. Chris hummed to himself. Maybe he had a forearm kink, or possibly just a Peter kink. Everything about that man was eye-opening and frustrating.

“Sit forward and let me start washing you.” Peter gently pushed Chris forward so Chris leant against his bent knees. Warm water trickled down his back, followed by the touch of a soft cloth. Peter meticulously washed his back, neck, arms, and underarms, before he commanded Chris to lie back. Chris was floating, both in reality and in his head, the soft touches and murmured words from Peter soothing.

When Peter’s hand wrapped around his cock, Chris nearly choked as he gasped and took a mouthful of water. At Peter's narrowed eyes, he swallowed the complaint that was on his lips. Peter stroked and washed his cock and balls with such thoroughness that Chris wanted to die a little from the embarrassment, but another part of him relished in letting Peter take control, even of this most intimate of things. “On your knees. boy. Rest your arms and head on the edge of the tub.” Peter's voice was a low rumble and Chris hurried to comply. His ears burned red at the wantonness of being on display like this, his bare wet ass in the air facing Peter. He rested his head against his forearms, trying to slow his heavy breaths. 

The warm cloth was back, washing between his legs and along his crack, the slide of the soapy flannel combined with Peter’s other hand holding his hip was strangely arousing. He let out a soft gasp when the washcloth was replaced by a finger lightly tracing the skin around his exposed pucker. Chris sucked in a breath but held still, the touch, while unfamiliar was not unpleasant. A soapy finger pushed a with a little more pressure against his tightly furled entrance, enough to catch and pull at the clenched muscles. The hand on his hip held firm and Peter's voice was a soft rumble behind him. “Breath and relax boy, let me in.” 

The finger slid a little deeper inside of him and Chris let out a gasp, unsure about this strange intrusion. The heavy weight of his cock made it clear that it, at least, was not unhappy with this turn of events. Chris gave a pleased hum, and hoped that maybe Peter would let him come again tonight, but those hopes were dashed by the dark chuckle behind him. “No coming, Christopher, or the cage will be on longer than a night. I’ve broken the rules already once today, and I won't be making a habit of it.” 

Chris moaned at the thought of being denied and then grunted loudly as Peter slid his finger in deeper, brushing something inside of Chris that made him see sparks. He groaned and pushed back on the finger, letting out another gasp as the single finger became two. He gave a frustrated growl when the hand that Peter had on his hip moved, wrapping around the base of his cock and squeezing tight, stopping Chris from spilling. Peter’s soapy fingers slid in and out of him, the bastard hitting that spot inside him with unerring accuracy. Chris wanted to cry with frustration, or come, or both, but Peter's hand, wrapped like an iron glove around his cock, would not budge.

Peter's fingers slid from him, and Chris felt bereft at the emptiness they left behind. Peter’s hand was still clamped around his aching cock like a vice, but the urge to come had fallen to a low ache. “Can you control yourself enough not to come, Christopher?” Peter spoke softly from behind him. 

Chris took a shuddering breath. “Yes, I think so.” The hand around his cock slipped loose and Chris took a deep breath.

“I’m going to leave you for a few minutes. I will just be in the bedroom. I’m very pleased with you, pet.” Chris glowed under Peter's praise. It was new, to be praised, to be made to feel like he had worth. He was doing this for Allison, but maybe along the way he could get something out of it too. Peter came back carrying a large bath sheet. “Come now, the water will be getting cold and we still need to attend to your shave.” Chris rose out of the water and into the warm fluffy embrace of the towel, he was still feeling the heady rush of his experience in the bath when what Peter said sunk in.

“Shave?” 

“Yes, pet. I like my boys’ cock and balls to be smooth and hairless. My marks show up better, and I find the skin is much more sensitive when free from hair.” Peter’s smirk was downright evil, but Chris  _ had  _ agreed to follow Peter's rules. 

He huffed out a sigh, “So, you want me to shave myself?”

“No, pet. As your Dom it would be my pleasure to do this for you. I’m sure you won’t find the process unpleasant.” Peter led Chris towards the bed where towels were already laid out over the bedspread. A leather case lay open on the bedside table containing a straight-razor. There was shaving cream in a bowl along side it, and extra towels and cloths lay close at hand. His dick had thankfully lost interest in the events, but the thought of that wicked looking blade so close to his dick sent a shudder through him. “Don’t worry, pet, I’m extremely skilled with the blade and your lovely cock will come to no harm from its edge.”

Chris sat on the towel and bit back a smartass remark. He wasn't sure just how bad a cock cage could be, but he didn't want to risk wearing it longer than he had to just because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

“Lay back pet, hands by your sides please.” Chris complied, letting himself relax into the firm mattress. the bedding smelled of Peter's rich aftershave. His fingers stroked the soft material of the bedspread. He could hear Peter moving about the room, the soft sound of Peters footfalls was muffled by the thick persian rug the bed stood upon. Chris gave a small jerk when he felt a warm hand on his leg. “ Shh, pet. It's only me. Now settle let Sir shave you. Spread your legs for me, knees up.” 

Chris flung an arm over his eyes but complied with Peter’s command. A small shiver ran through him when he felt the warm washcloth at his groin. He gave another small start when he felt the shaving brush, its soft bristles tickling his groin. “Do I need to tie you down, pet?” Chris shook his head. “Pity,” murmured Peter as he slowly covered Chris's balls and groin with cool shaving foam. 

Chris clenched his hands in the bedspread, willing his body to stay still—and more importantly, not to react to the hot man who was between his legs. Not an easy feat. The bristles of the shaving brush were more ticklish than arousing so far, but the last thing he wanted or needed was to get hard again,  _ especially  _ if Peter was going to use that wicked looking straight razor near his junk.

“Boy, I am going to need you to  _ stay still. _ ” Chris lifted his head to peer into the stern blue eyes of his Sir. He nodded and lay his head back down, breathing deeply. The first pass of the razor was strange, but the drag and slide of the cool metal close to his dick was almost nice—if he could overcome his instinctive terror. Peter was mostly silent during the whole process, giving a firm tap on the inner thigh when he wanted Chris to spread his legs wider or shift his hips. A tug on the sensitive skin of his balls caused him to hiss, but he remained motionless as he felt the glide and soft scrape of the blade. Finally, the blade was replaced by a warm cloth. Mmm, that felt nice. 

Another, sharper, tug, and Chris yelped, eyes flying open. Peter wore a salacious grin. “Oh, I’m going to have  _ such _ fun torturing these lovelies.” Peter gave Chris’s balls another hard squeeze -which should  _ not _ have made a frisson of pleasure zip down Chris’s spine. The hold Peter had on his balls was just on the edge of too much, and Chris could feel tears building in the corners of his eyes. He wasn’t sure if the sigh he let out when Peter released his hold was from relief or because he wanted more. God, his head was so fucked up right now. 

A slap to his inner thigh had him focusing again, and seeing Peter's extended hand he grasped it. Peter helped him up and led Chris over to the large standing mirror near the bed. Peter stood behind Chris, smiling over his shoulder, “I’m pleased with the results, I must say. What do you think, Christopher?” Chris looked at himself in the mirror, trying not to blush. He paused, taking his time to really look at himself. His skin had taken on a rosy glow thanks to the bath and Peter's attention. He let himself look lower—his cock and balls looked so naked without their usual camouflage of wiry hair—naked as a baby was the thought that sprang to mind. 

Chris watched in the mirror as Peter's arm came around his waist, and he stifled a gasp as a clawed hand ran over his belly. His skin prickled and tingled where the claws ran over it. Peter, though slightly shorter, was still tall enough to hook his chin over Chris’s naked shoulder and grin. “You look perfect for me. There's just one addition needed.” 

The contrast of the two of them caught Chris eye. Him, naked and shaved, and Peter, still clothed in his expensive suit except for the jacket. Peter's hand crept up and started toying with a nipple, and Chris let his weight rest against Peter's broad chest. “What addition is that, Sir?” he asked, even though he knew the answer.

Peter nipped the skin on Chris’s neck, lifting his gaze to meet Chris eyes in the mirror. “I’m going to cage you.” Peter spoke huskily into Chris’s skin. Chris let out a shaky breath. They had discussed this, orgasm control and denial were things that, while they made Chris nervous, also piqued his interest. Peter would control everything in regards to Chris, and this was a small step in that direction, a physical sign of his submission to Peter's will and control.

Tilting his head, baring more of his throat, Chris let out a soft sigh. “I suppose an orgasm before I'm locked away is out of the question, Sir?” 

“Not a chance, pet.” Giving one of Chris’s nipples a sharp tug, he stepped back. “Come stand over by the bed, please.” 

Chris gave Peter a shy smile and walked slowly over to the bed. Peter was already sitting down with a black leather box sitting alongside him, as well as a slim bottle of lube. Peter crooked a finger. “Come stand between my legs, boy. It’s time for you to try on your cage.” 

Chris wouldn’t say he dragged his feet, but he sure as hell didn’t rush, and the slight tic under Peter's eyes told him he wasn’t exactly pleasing his Sir. He shuffled to a stop just before he reached the spot between Peter's legs. For whatever reason, Chris’s brain decided he wanted Peter to work for this, and that he wasn’t going to come meekly to heel. Perhaps he just wanted to see how Peter reacted. He didn’t have to wait long. 

Peter’s hand wrapped around his soft cock and dragged him forward. He let out a sharp breath at the firm, painful grasp Peter held him in. “When I say come, boy, you  _ come. _ ” Peter twisted his hand and Chris hissed. Peter was studying him intently. Was he waiting for him to call red, to run scared? Not a chance in hell. Chris lifted his chin and gave Peter a slow smirk.

“I like my boys with some fire, pet, but insolence I will not abide. You  _ will _ be caged before you retire tonight, or we rip the contracts up and you go on your way.” The warmth that had existed in Peter’s eyes had now vanished. In its place was cold indifference, and that caused an almost physical pain in Chris's chest at the spectre of losing this chance to make a better life for him and Allison, and for what—his stupid damn pride? 

Bowing his head he spoke quickly, eager to repair any damage he'd done. “Please, Sir. I'm sorry for my disrespect. Please cage me.” He forced himself to step forward, head bowed, until he was standing in the spot between Peters’ legs. 

He kept his gaze fixed on his feet, the moments of silence dragging out. The faint whisper of the fabric of Peter’s trousers as he finally moved was shockingly loud. Through downcast eyes he saw Peter's hand, then his chin was gripped between strong, elegant fingers, and forced up until he was looking Peter in the eyes. “I would normally give you five stripes across those lovely shaved balls of yours, but it’s your first night, and it would be unfair for me to punish you too severely. Instead, tonight you will warm my cock while I read.” With Peter holding his chin, Chris couldn’t look away. He felt both relief and embarrassment. Peter would forgive him—he hadn’t ruined this before they had even begun. “Now pet, stand still while I lock your pretty cock away.”

Chris stood still while Peter slipped the ring over his balls, and fought the urge to squirm as the silver cage was fitted. He looked down at it when Peter was finished, fascinated. The way it fitted meant he could still pee with little hindrance and its weight was barely noticeable. It was—almost pretty. Peter leaned forward and attached the small padlock, the key then threaded onto a platinum chain that Peter looped over his neck.

“Now you look perfect.” Peter slid off the bed and pulled Chris against him, kissing him till Chris was breathless and rutting against him, nipping at Chris’s lips then soothing with his tongue. Chris was slightly dazed when they pulled apart, and now very aware of the damn cage as his cock tried and failed to join the party. 

Peter broke the kiss. “I want you to take those towels from the bed and put them in the laundry, then I want you to gather the platter of cold meats and cheese from the fridge along with two bottles of water, and come back here.” 

Chris nodded “Yes, Sir.” He looked around for his bag but couldn't see it. “Sir? I’ll need some clothes.” 

Peter gave an amused huff. “If you look on the bed Christopher, you’ll see what I have chosen for you to wear for the rest of the evening.”

Chris looked over at the bed not seeing anything at first, but then he spotted them. His gaze narrowed and he huffed out a resigned breath. Blue lace and satin panties sat nestled on what Chris understood would be his pillow, and alongside them, a slim black leather collar.

This, he had read about—the importance of the collar, a physical acknowledgement of his submission to Peter. His stomach did a nervous flip flop as he walked over to the items. Not daring to hesitate after his earlier mis-step, he took a deep breath he slid the panties on. The soft material was both shockingly strange and desperately erotic aginst his freshly shaved skin. He picked up the collar respectfully, bringing it back around the bed to Peter, who smiled with pride when Chris lowered himself to his knees and offered it to him. 

“Oh good, pet. I see you actually read the materials I sent you,” Peter praised softly.

“Yes, Sir.” Chris kept his eyes lowered, ashamed at his early petulance at being caged.

“Look at me please, pet.” Peter's voice once again held that warmth that Chris was becoming addicted to.

Chris tipped his head up. Peter was smiling again, and Chris’s heart did a stupid hop-thump thing. “Christopher, do you understand the significance of this collar?”

“Yes, Sir. I do. I hand myself over to your care and domination. I submit to your will by my own free choice.” Chris chewed on his lip, hoping he’d remembered the lines as he had read them.

Peter unlocked the collar and slid it around Chris's neck. “While you wear this collar, you shall be under my protection and guidance.” He locked the collar in place and kissed Chris softly on the cheek, then stepped back. “Now, I believe you have tasks to do?” There was an amused twinkle in Peter’s eye, and the feeling must have been contagious. because Chris found himself smiling in return as he rose rapidly to his feet. 

Peter started to unbutton his shirt and gave Chris a nod. “Run along now. I want to see you on the bed waiting for me when I get out of the shower. Oh and by the way, as of tomorrow, you’ll be bathing with me.” 

Chris gulped audibly as he watched Peter strip off his shirt. Jesus, his life had turned into a scene from a porn movie, and he was center stage. He took a look around the bedroom with its rich furnishings and opulent bed, and shook his head. Here he stood, in the middle of luxury—smooth-shaved, cock caged, and wearing what could only be described as manties.

Chris fought the urge to let out a hysterical giggle as he thought to himself,  _ Well, you're definitely not in Kansas anymore. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love hugs and blessings from the Great Grumpy Unicorn, feel free to come yell with me about these boys.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading my Stuffs™ comments are adored


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